


In the Vast Dark

by TessMonster, TheArtOfSuicide



Series: This Endless Night [1]
Category: Beetlejuice (1988), Beetlejuice - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Attempted Rape, Bloodplay, F/M, albino!Lydia, strong dubcon elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:00:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 15
Words: 69,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27547957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TessMonster/pseuds/TessMonster, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheArtOfSuicide/pseuds/TheArtOfSuicide
Summary: Poltergeist:A German word meaning literally "Noisy Ghost". This type of phenomenon is documented to most commonly occur around adolescent young girls.
Relationships: Beetlejuice/Lydia Deetz, Charles Deetz/Delia Deetz
Series: This Endless Night [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2013676
Comments: 10
Kudos: 77





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> What follows is a copied-and-pasted roleplay between **TessMonster** and myself, **TheArtOfSuicide**. She is playing as Betelgeuse and I am playing Lydia. Because of the nature of roleplay, the point of view changes often and you will see each event as it was perceived by our renditions of these characters. It's being posted here so that we can have a comprehensive archive to look back on and reread easily rather than having to dig through messages and docs.
> 
> _Header art was done by **TessMonster**._

Lydia's heart sunk like a stone into a dark lake with each bump and jostle of the car down the unmaintained road. Her entire life was spent in New York City. New York was what she knew. Here, she would be a freak‒ not that she wasn't a freak in New York, but the obstacles she faced there were familiar and could be overcome. Winter River was a mystery, and the blind had enough mysteries to deal with, thank you very much.

The windows in the back were tinted dark especially for her, but a nearly opaque veil was still drawn across the top half of her face to shield from any stubborn sunlight fighting its way in. Every few minutes, the camera in her lap was aimed out the tinted window to snap and document the journey. She wouldn't be able to actually examine the photos until much later in the evening when true darkness fell, but it was a comfort to take them anyway.

"... please can I be homeschooled…?"

"No." She flinched though her father's tone wasn't necessarily harsh. "We've been over this, Lydia. Miss Shannon's already been paid full tuition, it's non-refundable, and they can accommodate you _just fine_."

It was the answer she expected, but Lydia couldn't help the way her chest panged, bottom lip trembling. She knew the real reason they weren't willing to spare her the torture of socializing with other teenagers. It was easier to have her gone from the house most of the day than to keep her around them all the time. She was a burden and an inconvenience and she knew it. It was a wonder they hadn't just stuffed her in an institution and been done with it.

When the car rolled up to the house on the hill, the movers were already there and things were in full swing. Even before exiting the car, Lydia could sense the hustle and bustle around her. It would have been easier making it to the front door with her father and Delia's assistance, but her stepmother was already busy shouting at movers and her father was already missing. Very slowly and cautiously, the way Lydia had to do everything, she eased the car door open, cringing at the bright light that got through her veil to sting her sensitive eyes.

The parasol she opened helped, as well as encouraged others to stay out of her bubble as she squinted through the burning light to distinguish the blurry shape of a house and baby-step her way to the front door, taking aimless photos every couple steps. These would help her learn the space. The steps of the porch were counted in her head, the number committed to memory, Lydia thankful for the presence of handrails.

She was on her own to explore. Several of the movers bumped into her as she wandered the halls, short and small and in their way, but she recovered each time, centering herself and swallowing familiar panic at the disorientation of not knowing exactly where she was. Pale, delicate fingers traced over everything in her path. The photos she took would build a solid image in her mind later, but for now, this is how she would set the base of learning her new nest.

As she navigated up to the second floor, something told her to stop right as her mapping hands were about to ruin an intricately built spiderweb. She took the time to stop, peel her veil back, and press her face in close, admire the beautiful creature whose home she almost destroyed.

"How do you like the house, pumpkin?"

It seemed her father had remembered her existence. Her stepmother could be heard loudly critiquing the decor in the dining room, her snobby friend Otho apathetically approving each snide comment and offering his suggestions for improvement.

"Delia hates it."

This spider was venomous. If it or one of its friends bit her, would they notice and be able to get her to the hospital in time?

"I could live here."

* * *

A fucking empty house. Juno stuck him in a fucking _empty house_. Was it better than the godforsaken grave? Oh, fuck yeah, by a long shot. Juno knew exactly what she was doing, giving him just enough of a taste of the living world but no breathers to scare.

Well, there was that one obnoxious Butterfield woman… he cheerfully sent her running the few times she dared to come up and check on his haunt. This morning, however, the annoying woman had only shown up long enough to unlock the doors as several large moving trucks had pulled up the drive.

He watched from the attic windows. It was the best view in the house, and besides, he'd scared her off how many times now? No point in interefering when he had curiosities that needed indulging. The floor creaking at the bottom of the main staircase without his help ended up sending the traumatized woman screaming anyway.

The shit the movers were hauling into the house was ugly enough to almost give _him_ nightmares, load after load of it. He leaned against the window, smoking and watching the living scurry about below. He grinned as he came up with plans for how he was going to terrorize the new tenants.

A newer-looking sports car with dark tinted windows pulled up.

"Must be the new family," he muttered before pushing away from the window, flicking away the cigarette, and melting through the floor. He materialized at the top of the main stairs and spotted a middle-aged man and a… girl? She was so wrapped up in skirts and lace with a veil that he could hardly make out the person underneath,

_"I could live here."_

But her voice was soft and sweet and it made him _feel._ The rare moment was ruined by a red-headed woman coming around the corner, heading for the stairs, and talking a mile a minute. Her voice could give the dead a headache. As she and the fatso with her moved past him towards the second floor, he sent out a wave of power causing all the lights to flicker and then suddenly burst.

* * *

There was a tangible sizzle of static in the air. Lydia heard an abrupt _crack_ followed by shouts of surprise from the people all around her. It wasn't so bright anymore, so she flipped her veil back fully to reveal pale eyes centered on an even more palid, but lovely face.

"What happened? Did the electricity go out?"

No one answered or seemed to take notice that she even spoke. Delia was shouting too loudly, irate that one of her sculptures was dropped in the confusion, and Charles was trying to clean up _that_ mess. With an equally ignored sigh, Lydia continued exploring, having an easier time of it now without any glaring lights hindering her as she went. A bedroom without any windows was chosen for herself, the girl not caring that it was smaller than the other she had to choose from. She could tell by the number of steps it took to walk the perimeter of each room.

Lydia didn't make a habit of hoarding material possessions. Her mother's old vanity, a bookshelf for reading and displaying trinkets, a closet for her clothing, and a bed was plenty enough for her. Moving men were bustling by with heavy steps, and it took three tries for her to successfully get the attention of one of them and politely request the boxes marked "Lydia" be brought to this room. The only reply she received was a grunt that vaguely sounded like agreement. Satisfied, she moved on.

The second set of stairs was a surprise. The basement was part of what her father used to help butter her up to the prospect of moving, but no one told her this place had a third floor. As before, she counted each careful step, holding onto the rail with one hand and her long skirt with the other. Unfortunately, the handle on the lone door she found at the top remained rigid when it was turned.

"Shoot," she pouted in disappointment. This was the last room on the roster but she didn't particularly feel like attempting to navigate the circus on the ground floor to find someone willing to spare time to unlock a silly door for a curious little girl. However, just as she was preparing to give up and return to her empty room to wait in silence in the dark for someone to notice her, she heard it.

_Click_.

The handle turned, and the door opened.

* * *

Chaos.

Just what the doctor ordered. It was nice having living people to play with. He cackled wildly for a moment trying to decide what he should do next as the small figure swathed in black moved past him on the stairs. She was ignored almost as much as he was. Once he caught sight of her delicate pale face and eyes he _had_ to follow her.

As he floated along behind her, he noticed how slowly and carefully she moved about the second floor, and when she chose the small windowless room as her own he was just confused.

"Ya' know this room ain't got any windows, right kid?" he didn't say it horribly loud knowing she wouldn't hear him anyway.

After watching her try and talk to the movers several times he got sick of watching her struggle like a newly-dead and pulled the rug from under one of them, causing the man to stumble and _finally_ notice the girl. The way all the living in the house treated her, it was almost like she was just another ghost haunting this house. If it weren't for the way she obviously couldn't hear him, he would be convinced she was playing for his team.

When she headed for the attic, he was right behind her. Watching her feel her way up the stairs, half waiting for her to slip on her skirts and truly end up haunting the house with him. When she reached for the door he flicked his wrist to make sure it was locked. The attic was his space and he wasn't about to share...

" _Shoot."_

… Until she said that. It tugged at him irrationally like her comment about living here did. Letting out a frustrated growl, he flicked his wrist again making the lock click and the door swing open.

It was a single room, as large as the whole second floor. To one side there were dusty boxes and crates. The furniture consisted of an antique chaise lounge, a pair of wingback chairs, and a large roll-top desk. He moved past her to flop heavily on the lounge causing dust to rise and making the springs groan, before conjuring up a cigarette. With a snap of his fingers, the roll-top desk popped open and the record player inside began to quietly play Mozart.

* * *

Eerie but beautiful notes began to play from a device that made the source sound aged‒ a record player? This was one of her favorites… but who started the music playing?

"Hello?"

Searching, against her better judgment she broke away from the wall that kept her grounded to step fully into the attic and immerse herself in the room. Not a moment later, the door slammed shut behind her, the lock clicking into place. Startled, she scrambled back but there wasn't a latch or turn to be found on the frustratingly smooth knob. The door locked and unlocked by key only. _From the outside_.

Someone was in there with her. Someone dead.

This wasn't the first time a ghost had made contact with her, but this was her first experience with a presence so hostile and aggressive right off the bat. Despite trepidation, she forced her expression to remain calm even as her pulse fluttered. Getting angry or scared wouldn't help anything. The smell of cigarette smoke began to fill the musty, stagnant air.

"Is this your house?"

Nothing changed in the environment that Lydia could discern enough to call it an answer. Minor chords continued to sound, the orchestra's increasing intensity lost on the medium through which the music was forced to play. That must have been a **No** then, or the spirit just didn't feel like chatting. In either case, Lydia did and as she didn't see herself leaving this attic anytime soon, she _kept_ talking.

"I don't really want to live here either, but it's not up to me. If you want us to leave, you'll have to take it up with _them_. Good luck."

Hopefully, the ghoul wouldn't take this as an offer of free reign to torment Charles and Delia Deetz, but Lydia wasn't particularly pressed if it did.

"Since this isn't your house, I guess you won't mind if I go through some of this stuff then."

As before, everything remained the same, almost as if the presence had changed its mind about toying with her or was trying to make her think she'd imagined it all. _Fat chance._ Humming along to the sad notes, Lydia continued the exploration she began in climbing the steps to the attic and allowed herself to _touch_ , little fingers leaving a trail in the dust to mark everywhere she had been.

"Mozart died while he was writing this."

If this ghost thought it could scare her with classical music, it had another thing coming.

"You can tell because unlike his other pieces where every bar is different and unique, after a certain point in this song his students had to just keep repeating what he had already written because they couldn't conceive anything great enough to finish it. Isn't that sad? That we'll never know what it was supposed to be?"

She frowned melancholic, running both hands over a flat, smooth object buried under boxes in the corner… a piano! That frown morphed into an almost-smile, and she filed this information away to be explored later.

"I think it's sad, but I like to think that he got to finish it the way he wanted. Eventually."

* * *

Slamming the door and locking it had been a whim. But when the girl barely even panicked, he wasn't sure if he was interested or pissed. Granted slamming doors was a cheap scare, but still he'd used the juice to do it right? The little cream puff shoulda at least squeaked right… Right?!

_"Is this your house?"_

That made him snort and flick away his half-smoked cigarette. He rose slowly and moved up behind her, pulling shadows to him and trying to make his form slightly visible. Without someone saying his name, this was as solid as he would get. He followed almost on her heels as she ran her small hand over all the junk left by previous inhabitants of the house.

_"Mozart died while he was writing this."_

What? Wait, was...the old record he last left on the player must have been Mozart. It, like the rest of the contents of the attic, was leftover from previous tenants of the house and he had only started it on whatever to try and call the girl inside.

" _I think it's sad, but I like to think that he got to finish it the way he wanted eventually_."

That made him shrug, rolling his shoulders and stretching his neck. Cool fingers reached out to run through her pale hair.

"Of course he finished it. Probably wrote a buncha other shit once he was there too. Most artsy types don't let death stand in the way o' creatin'."

That made him freeze, his fingers still tangled her soft fine hair. Was he trying to _comfort_ her? It left a nasty feeling In his gut that he didn't understand and therefore pissed him off. The temperature in the attic dropped enough he could see her breath. The needle was ripped off the record, the desk slammed shut and the lights began to flicker.

He took a few steps back from the girl as something downstairs made a crashing noise.

* * *

He cut the song short before it could end. "He" seemed right. This energy felt very male to Lydia. It was short-tempered and pushy, entitled to her emotions. Though, she considered, this was probably equally strange for him. Most people would have been scared by now, wouldn't they? The very tangible sensation of fingers running through her hair sent shivers down her spine. That felt almost affectionate.

Then, there was another crash near her, the music coming to a jarring stop, then more clanging and bashing below her feet. He got a fraction of the reaction he wanted, finally, as she flinched back into the shadows that comprised him, losing her grounding touch on the piano to cover her eyes in sudden disorientation.

It was dark when she came in. The flood of fluorescent bulbs overhead flashing on so suddenly sent a few tears running down her cheeks from the sting on her irises. She gave a pained shout, covering her face with her hands to protect against the onslaught, rendering her _truly_ blind.

"I'm sorry!" She offered, hoping to appease. "We don't have to be friends if you don't want! _You're_ the one who locked me up here! Let me go and I won't come back, I promise! Just _please_ stop, it hurts!"

* * *

A hand steadied her shoulder as she fell back. It was heavy and covered a large expanse. Her outcry of pain startled him enough to pull his energy back, making the lights go out again.

"The fuck?"

A wave of his hand and the door unlocked and popped open again but he didn't let go of her shoulder yet. He was trying to get her to scream, not cause pain. What had he even done to cause pain? He squeezed her shoulder softy before moving back towards the lounge, dispelling the shadows around himself and conjuring another lit cigarette perched on his lips. Adjusting his suit jacket, he turned back towards her.

"Ya' wanna be fuckin' _friends?"_ He spat the words out around his cigarette. "Jesus fuck, kid, yer strange. Wantin' to be friends with a goddamned ghost." That makes him chuckle, and the temperature return to normal.

"I mean ya look like one an' the livin' keep ignorin' ya. Shame ya' can't hear me." He slipped his hands in his pockets, grinning over at her, smoke rolling out his nostrils.

* * *

That firm squeeze knocked the breath from her. As soon as she heard the door open, she was ready to bolt, but the invisible hand on her shoulder was steadfast in insisting she _stay_ , and only fell away once it seemed convinced she would. Now more than before Lydia was _sure_ this spirit was a man, judging by his strength and size alone. She herself was overly petite in stature, but the weight of his touch encompassed her entire shoulder.

Baby hairs at the back of her neck tickled warning of _danger_ even as snowy cheeks flushed at his desire to keep her near. Safe in the dark again, her hands fell away to reveal teary, cloudy blue eyes, clearly irritated. Lydia took a moment to gather herself and wipe the dampness from her face, but it would be a little while before the watery bloodshot look faded.

"I'm not _fully_ blind," she explained self-consciously. Her body was panned slightly toward where his spirit stuff had settled, almost as if she just _knew_ where he was. "... it's called 'hyper-photosensitivity.' I see okay up close with just a little bit of candlelight, but the _best_ time is at night when the sky is clear and the moon is really big. Something about it is just perfect. I still can't see like‒ like a _normal_ person, but everything glows, and it doesn't hurt."

Her blush deepened. She was sharing an awful lot about herself to this strange dead man. It couldn't be ruled out quite yet that he wasn't something more sinister than a mere ghost and deserving of more caution.

"I don't usually talk this much."

_"Lydia! Where are you? We're ordering Cantonese, come tell us what you want!"_

"I‒ I should go." The temperature spiked again, and she continued on as if worried she was offending him with her rejection of the generous offer to share his space. "I'll come back! I live here now."

A careful, yet hasty retreat was made toward the door before she had a chance to fully map out the room, but Lydia needed some space to process this new development. Living with a ghost like this was going to be challenging indeed. In a last offering of peace, she flashed a rare smile over her shoulder before leaving.

"Thanks for talking Mozart with me. I'll bring some of my records once they're unpacked. Then you can let me know what you think of my music."


	2. Chapter 2

_She's blind._

She was blind and the light hurt her. That gave him pause. Usually, the living couldn't interact with the dead because they relied too much on their sight… This had possibilities. He could make this work for him. The thought inspired cackles as he watched her quickly disappear down the stairs, claiming that she was going to come back up to visit and that she would bring records. Thank fuck, all this classical shit had him gagging.

After finishing his cigarette, he headed down to see how the new homeowners were settling in. If he was being honest with himself, and he wasn't, he just wanted to find the girl and see if she would feel him lurking. Instead, he opted to seek out the spaces the old man and the harpy claimed for themselves. He hadn't had this much opportunity to readily torment the living in awhile.

He drifted down the attic stairs and slowly pulled shadows around himself. Floating soundlessly over the worn hallway carpet, he stopped at the girl's door to look inside after overhearing distressed sounds. She had only managed to gather a few boxes with the label 'Lydia" on them. He couldn't even imagine how she was able to collect the few she had, as small as she was.

On the first floor, he could hear the doorbell and that obnoxious woman shouting _"Food's here!"_

He watched as the girl, Lydia, hurried down the stairs. From his vantage on the landing, he could see that there were at least five boxes with her name on it in the brightly lit entranceway. That irritated him. It looked like the majority of the boxes left unsorted belonged to the girl. With a low growl and a flick of his wrist, the last of Lydia's boxes were whisked to her room. He could feel the living in the dining area and sent a power surge to blow out the lightbulbs in that corner of the house. Satisfied, he mozied back to her room and sent his energy to work unpacking her things very carefully. Once all the boxes were emptied he sent them away, making sure he had everything put away neatly and easy for her to find. Finally, he made sure the candles she kept were waiting lit for her.

After he was done in the girl's room he was ready to cause some chaos and wash away the strange feelings leftover from such an uncharacteristic act of kindness. The old man had taken over the room with built-in shelving. Boxes and a desk were stacked at one end waiting to be unpacked. Betelgeuse thought it would be downright unfriendly to not help his new roommates get more settled. With a wicked grin and a snap of his fingers one of the boxes of books exploded all over the room, the desk drawers were all pulled out and their contents scattered. That should send a message he would let the old man interpret for himself.

* * *

"This house is haunted."

Both adult Deetzes shared a groan of exasperation.

"Not again, Lydia‒"

"You can't run around telling people you see _dead people_ everywhere‒"

"Don't give the kids at this school any more reasons to make fun of you‒"

For all intents and purposes, she may as well have been deaf too with how skillfully she proceeded to tune out their joint scolding. Hopefully, the spirit was watching and would appreciate that she at least tried to make them aware of his presence. The food was terrible, Lydia was exhausted, and she didn't have the first clue where her sheets and bedding were. The movers had at least gotten her mattress and bedframe to the right room, but everything else was scattered.

With the way they were lecturing her now, Lydia wasn't in any particular mood to request assistance. She would rather sleep on the bare mattress for a night than forsake her pride like that. She already had so little to hold onto. Just then, she felt the same static sizzle from before, and again, the room was plunged into comfortable darkness, alleviating her and inconveniencing both parents.

Well aware who was responsible, the girl smirked into her greasy noodles and finished the meal in lone silence while her father and stepmother went to flip the breakers yet again. When she returned to her chosen room after spending a frustrating half hour searching for the elusive blankets and pillows, it was obvious to her immediately that someone had been there while she was gone.

It took a moment, but once her eyes adjusted to the perfect lighting, she gasped in wonder at the setup. Had she really thought this spirit malicious? He couldn't be. This was so _sweet_. Fingers trailed over the spines of her books, noting that her special braille editions of the classics were arranged according to genre and in alphabetical order, exactly the way she preferred. There were more candles lit than she owned, most of them bordering the mirror on her vanity so that she could get a near-clear look at herself.

She didn't know what to think. This was _advanced_ paranormal activity, and it was beyond the scope of her experience and understanding. Whatever she was dealing with was incredibly powerful and obviously fixated on her. The concept was both thrilling and worrisome. His presence couldn't be felt by her currently, but she spun slowly, searching out for his energy anyway. He either wasn't there or he was hiding from her better now that he knew she could feel him.

"Thank you," she whispered, still awed by the gesture. He had even hung her clothes accordingly; shirts with shirts, skirts with skirts, dresses with dresses, et cetera. After choosing a comfortable, light nightgown all in black‒ just like everything she wore‒ Lydia spared another search for his energy.

"If you're here," she braved, nervous of offending him with the implication if he _was_ there, " _please_ don't look."

With that, trembling pale fingers began to undo the line of buttons running down her long, modest sundress.

* * *

On his way back to the attic, he passed the master bedroom and noticed it too had been mostly unpacked so he did his neighborly duty and rearranged everything into a sloppy heap. Feeling very proud and supremely content with his night's work, he _casually_ passed by the girl's room again on his way to the attic and decided it was imperative to check in on her. Make sure she was able to find everything. Nothing serious.

He stepped through the door just to see her dropping her long black sundress to the ground, pale skin reflecting the candlelight.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ, why ya hidin' _that_ under all that fabric?"

For maybe the first time, he was thankful that he was basically cut off from the entirety of the breathing populace. Not wanting to alert her to his presence too early, he made sure to keep next to the door until she finished changing into a disappointingly shapeless nightgown. After she was done dressing, he made the temperature drop ever so slightly, lit a cigarette, then knocked softly on her vanity.

* * *

Just as she was climbing into bed, she felt it; a drop in temperature paired with the scent of burning tobacco. Turning in bed to sit properly from where she was on her knees, she flushed at his gentle _knock, knock, knock_ ‒ as if she needed further signifiers that he was there.

The timing was a bit too convenient. Deep down inside, she knew he watched her undress, but was too grateful for his help unpacking and intimidated by his spirirutal power to say anything about it. What could she do, really? Still, it was mortifying and so she tried to banish the thought that _he knew what she looked like naked_ from her head before proceeding to attempt conversation with him again, positively crimson-faced.

"Thank you," she reiterated for a second time in case he didn't hear the first. "For my room."

With the sudden chill of his aura, she tucked under her neatly folded comforter, pulling it up beneath her chin to get cozy.

"You can talk to me, you know."

He must have been skilled enough to at least talk to her if he could do all this. It was odd that he hadn't yet. His mood swings were unpredictable thus far.

"Unless you _can't_. The librarian from my old school was really chatty, but she couldn't do half as much as you can do. The other kids picked on me for 'talking to myself'. My father will probably have me committed if he hears me talking to you too much."

* * *

That made him groan.

"I AM TALKIN' but Juno _fucked me_ but good with this one..." If only the old bitch could see him now. He finally understood how this was a punishment; extended stay top side completely cut off from the breathers unless someone were to say his name.

His go-to move for this familiar song and dance show was to write his name down for the unsuspecting breather but because she couldn't see that wasn't a viable option either. She had lots of books… that had no writing in them so that wasn't going to help him. Searching for a solution, he analyzed her unpacked room carefully. His eyes fell on the radio sitting on the edge of her vanity. A sly grin crawled over his face.

With a snap of his fingers, little contraption turned on and began spinning ra[idly through the stations, the static giving him an opportunity to speak.

"Welcome...want talk...name three times…"

It butchered what he was trying to say, but it was the best he could do. He let the radio go dark and sat at the foot of her bed, hoping she caught the message.

* * *

The staggered, guttural voice coming from her radio only startled her a tiny bit since she wasn't expecting it. She felt the bed dip. Her legs curled in tighter toward herself at how close he had to be.

"You _want_ to talk? But you need me to say your name three times?" A gentle current of air swept over her that she took as a _Yes_. "Well... what's your name?"

The temperature dropped again. Her entire bed frame, herself included, rose an inch off the ground and then dropped with a heavy _thud_ that shook the room. Luckily, Delia was already in a drugged-out sleep and her father was dead drunk in his study so neither of them heard it or came rushing to investigate.

"Okay, okay, I get it! You can't talk!"

Throwing his voice through the radio like that must have taken quite a bit of spectral energy. She was sitting up straight biting her lip in thought until her expression brightened with an idea.

"I know! I'll say the alphabet, and when I get to a letter in your name, you knock once to stop me. Then, I'll start over until I have it. Sound good? Knock once if it's a deal."

_Knock_.

Grinning, proud of herself for succeeding in communicating with this mystery spirit, she began reciting the alphabet, beaming further to learn his name began with a "B." They worked together efficiently and it didn't take very long at all for Lydia to learn that his name was "Beetlejuice."

"Beetlejuice, huh?" She puzzled, speaking it aloud for a second time now. "That's almost as bad as _Deel-ee-ya Deeetz_."

Every syllable of her stepmother's name was enunciated with disgust. The air was tense with anticipation now, but at the moment of truth, Lydia hesitated. What if this was a _terrible idea?_ This could be a violent entity she was tangling with. It had already proven itself vindictive with its treatment of her parents.

"I don't know, Bee… What if...?" The dangers he represented went unspoken. "And it's _late_. I'm really tired. I appreciate everything you did. _So much_. Really, but‒ but‒"

The girl was struggling.

"Just let me sleep on it, okay?"

* * *

When her face lit up what was left of his heart clenched. It was glorious and he was sure from what little he had observed that day that she didn't get the opportunity to smile like that often.

Listening to her sweet work out his name until she was finally saying it sent a constant electric buzz through him. He could feel the painful tug just behind his sternum, the telltale sign he was being summoned‒ but she said it twice and stopped. He could see the change when it happened. She went from shiny and excited to cautious, maybe a little scared.

" _Just let me sleep on it, okay?"_

"C'mon, babeb yer givin' me blue balls." He flicked his cigarette across the room making it disappear before it could hit the floor. Her little form stiffened under her blankets and froze. So did he. He grinned dark.

"You can hear me, can't ya'?"

She gave three quick little head bobs letting him know she could. He could smell how scared she was by this point, could feel it coming off of her in waves.

"Yeah. Sleep on it."

What was this feeling crawling around his gut? He knew he hadn't eaten any creepy crawlies lately but he was going to pretend he had. His fingers combed through her hair before he disappeared from her room with a small _pop_. Downstairs she could hear him destroying the kitchen and dining room, all the glassware being pulled out of cupboards and moving boxes smashed against walls and the floor, the house vibrating with his mania.

* * *

Lydia hardly slept a wink that night. Most of it was spent holding her blanket close up under her chin and listening as he destroyed her new home. Slowly. One by one, dish by dish, appliance by appliance. How were her father and Delia sleeping through this? It was horrendous. Surely they wouldn't blame _her_ for this come morning?

They couldn't.

They did.

For two hours, they took turns yelling, apologizing for yelling, screaming more about _"the damned shitty wiring in this old house"_ and getting an electrician out there ASAP, and then getting more and more frustrated the longer she insisted "it wasn't her, it was the ghost."

In the end, she lost her camera, her radio and record player, and anything else in her room that seemed like it might be half fun.

"You're a jerk," she bit out at her silent, chilly bedroom once she was banished there by fed up adults. "And a bully, and _mean_ , and if you think you can force me to say your name, you're wrong."

* * *

Saying his name twice had made him tangible enough that if Lydia could have seen him, she would have but her stupid parents didn't even notice him. He leaned against the wall on the far side of the living room opposite them as they yelled at Lydia for the better part of the morning. Their joint hangovers were clear to the ghost and invisible to the chastized girl.  
 _  
So fucking stupid._ She obviously couldn't have done half the damage he caused the night before. It made him grin when he heard them calling an electrician. Good fuckin' luck. It took Charles six phone calls before he could find one willing to come out to the house on the hill. Betelgeuse scared so many away over the last few years he was surprised there were any left that were brave enough.

If he still had blood running, it would have boiled when he realized that them blaming the girl meant she was going to lose her possessions. As soon as Lydia slunk back to her bedroom he turned Charles' most expensive bottle of scotch into piss, then followed her.

" _You're a jerk."_

The temperature dropped in her room, not enough to be uncomfortable for her but enough to be noticeable.

"An' yer a tease. I wasn't tryin' to get ya to… just... _fuck_."

As he spat out the last word, her light bulb blew. With that, he disappeared out of her room returning to the attic. Crates and pieces of furniture were sent flying with his arrival. He wasn't sure if he was mad or just disappointed, and since fucking when did he feel _any_ of that? Lurking in one of the half smashed wing back chairs in the dark, he seethed.

The elder Deetzes would pay. He just didn't know how yet.


	3. Chapter 3

The longer Lydia spent in her bedroom alone in the dark, the worse she felt for the way she wrote off Betelgeuse. She didn't know hardly anything about him. Frustration at her parents blaming his actions on her led her to take it out on him‒ which was _fair_ , but couldn't she afford to give him the benefit of the doubt here?

After all, he didn't lay a hand on anything of hers. Her parents were the sole target of his ire, and didn't she tell him they were the ones to consult if he wanted them to leave? Yes, Sir. He only did what she suggested, badmouthing her parents as often as she did in their handful of interactions. It stung a little when she realized he _did_ , in fact, want her and her family to leave and was hoping to force them out with his actions. Still...

He noticed her. He liked her. That was worth looking into.

Having talked herself into guilt late in the night the next day‒ _his destruction had been on an eerie hiatus since their little tiff_ ‒ Lydia found herself tip-toeing up the attic stairs, hoping beyond hope that he would be willing to hear her.

_Knock, knock, knock._

* * *

Once he calmed down, he stole one of the heavy bottles of scotch from the mortal man's study and retreated back to the attic. With a wave of his hand, he put the room back into as much order as it was before his tantrum, boxes back in their corner, furniture all in one piece. His favorite chair was moved over to where he could prop his feet up on the windowsill.

On evenings like this, he would ordinarily have started the record player but the thought of listening to _that_ song, or anything that sounded like it, made something painful inside him clench. In the dark and quiet, he sat sucking down cigarettes and taking pulls off the brown liquor in his hand.

He could feel her outside the door before she knocked. She stood out there for a long while before finally plucking up the courage. Before she even finished the third knock, the lock clicked and the door popped open. He didn't get up, or move, or make any noise to make it easier for her to find him. He only sat and stared up at the night sky through the window, blowing smoke rings and waiting.

* * *

It didn't feel like he was there, but she knew he must have been. The lack of his heavy aura felt colder and more distant than his occasional anger.

"I'm sorry I called you names," she conceded sheepishly without crossing the threshold into his space. She had disrespected him and their tenuous "friendship" and therefore felt she didn't have the right to traipse through his domain again until he said so.

"I was just mad they blamed me for what you did so I took it out on you. That was wrong."

This was really hard. Her knees felt weak. If he didn't forgive her, she didn't know what she was going to do. It took him just a beat too long to respond and her heart sunk.

"Can you still talk or…? Just‒ Nevermind. I'll just go."

* * *

She could feel a plucking at her wrist, and it was pulling her into the room.

"Yeah, I can still talk," his voice was low and there was a hint of a growl there but more from lack of use than any kind of emotion. "Might as well come in. Careful. The floor's a mess."

The other chair moved across the room to sit next to the one already stationed in front of the window, and the invisible force around her wrist escorted her to the newly moved chair.

"I'm...I ain't mad at ya," he sighed, sitting up in his chair and setting the bottle on the floor before scrubbing his face with his hands.

"I can get the shit they took back for ya. If ya want that…"

* * *

A sweet smile blossomed on her lips at the offer after he gently guided her across the room and into a comfy armchair. The breeze coming through the window was pleasant, the smell of his smoke comforting and inoffensive, and the moon was brilliant enough to let her make out a vague shape of him and some of his color.

"You're blond, too," she remarked, bypassing his offer for a moment.

Lydia _never_ got in trouble. This wasn't something her parents would forget any time soon. To steal her trinkets back would only get her further on their bad side. The clink of a bottle did not go beyond her notice. He had the same kind of airs about him as her father when he was drinking too much; sad, exhausted, and emotionally dead all at once.

"Why do you need me to say your name? What will happen if I do?"

* * *

He grunted his agreement to her commenting on his hair color, not that he could legitimately remember what he looked like. Blond felt right. He turned in his chair so he could comfortably lean on the armrest, his chin resting on his folded arms. Like this he was virtually at eye level with her.

"You let me out. I'm solid. Everyone would be able to see me, hear me. When I said ya were given' me blue balls, it wasn't really too far off the mark. Ya' said it twice now n' it feels like I'm a string wound up too tight..."

He sighed and shifted in his seat a little. Reaching out with one hand he caught a lock of her hair and twirled it with his finger.

"... but this ainn't too bad. Least ya can hear me now."

* * *

Lydia felt compelled to lean against the arm closest to him as well when he tugged on her hair like that. The more he talked, the more she realized she was happy to hear him too. His voice was sinful; dark and gruff, a sound that had the capacity to strike fear into hearts or melt them to putty if it wished. At the moment, he seemed to be going for the latter with Lydia.

"You wouldn't… you wouldn't _hurt_ anyone, right?"

It seemed a fair question to ask considering his destructive tendencies.

"Why are you bound by your name, anyway? I've never met any ghosts like _that_. Are you even a ghost? Are you… something else?"

* * *

The first question had him dropping her hair and sitting back in his chair with another defeated sigh, slumped down low. A frown started to pull at his maw. He knew she wasn't going to like the answer but he didn't understand why that made him want to squirm.

"Ain't in the habit o' makin' promises I can't keep, baby doll." He conjured up another cigarette and took a long drag before continuing, "I fucked up _a lot_ a long time ago, n' that was the punishment."

" _Are you… something else?"_

That made him chuckle.

"'Course I'm a ghost. I'm the Ghost with the Most, sweet cheeks." He sat up again, picked the bottle up off the floor, and took a swig before offering it to her.

* * *

Lydia had never drunk a drop of alcohol a day in her life. Naturally, when she tipped the bottom of the bottle toward the ceiling to take a brave and ambitious gulp‒ _impress the "Ghost with the Most" who liked her apparently_ ‒ it led to a wet, messy, dizzy coughing fit. Her eyes were watering for a different reason this time.

"That was _dumb_ ," she moaned miserably once she had the wherewithal to speak, deeply embarrassed by the entire display. The effects of alcohol were immediate. She melted back into the armchair, slumped just as lazily as him, face tilted up to the sky.

"They're probably going to blame me for this bottle going missing, too," she pondered with an arched brow minutes later, then took a more appropriate and lady-like sip now that she knew what to expect. Another sip and it was passed back to Betelgeuse.

Now that she was drunk, because this must be what "drunk" was, she understood why her father was an alcoholic. Everything felt _wonderful_. She was so happy to be there with Betelgeuse, so flattered that this powerful dead man was enjoying her company and trying to please her. It made her strangely open and affectionate, her tongue loose.

"I like those nicknames," she giggled, cheeks flush from drink, and slumped over the arm nearest him in shameless hopes he would touch her again. No one ever wanted to touch her unless it was out of piteous obligation.

"Baby doll and sweet cheeks... It's like you _like-like_ me. I should call you something since your name is‒ it's complicated. Lemme think..."

His hand was in her hair again the way she was non verbally begging for, and she practically purred.

"BJ. Beejies. Heebie Jeebies. Beeeej."

* * *

It was clear from the way she swung the bottle bottoms up that she didn't really know what she was doing but it pleased him that she was willing to try new things. When the coughing started so did his laughter. It was a low sound rattling around his chest, making a concerning noise.

"Here, babes, sit up," he helped her lean up, laughter still coloring his voice. "I wouldn't worry about them noticin'. They ain't noticed with any o' the other bottles. 'Parently if I put the empties back, Chuck thinks he drank it."

Grinning, he took the bottle back from her and took a long pull before setting it back on the floor. He shifted so he could run his long-nailed fingers along her scalp and down through her hair. Her pink cheeks and warm skin had him hypnotized, her sweet scent dancing on the night breeze, the hint of lilac and vanilla.

" _BJ. Beejies. Heebie Jeebies. Beeeej."_

He had just taken a long drag off his cigarette when she offered up her nicknames. Though he didn't need to breathe, he choked on the smoke.

"Jesus fuck, Heebie Jeebies?" He coughed some more, his chest rattling. "Beej is fine, I like that."

He flicked his spent smoke out the window and reached over to pull her into his lap, her warm soft skin like silk under his large hands.

* * *

For just a few seconds, Lydia had the decency to stiffen when he presumptuously‒ _skillfully, strongly, possessively‒_ manhandled her into his lap. Then, she surrendered. He _was_ solid, more than any ghost she had met. Big and sturdy, just like his presence denoted. He had the build of someone who could do some real damage even without supernatural ability.

God, when was the last time someone hugged her and _meant_ it, wasn't cringing to get away from her and stop touching the invalid? What could she do but go limp and boneless, allow herself this guilty pleasure?

"I've never been drunk before," she confessed in a wobbly voice that spoke to the truth of what she said, "... _or sat in a man's lap_. Other than my father when I was little."

Betelgeuse felt so familiar even though they had known each other for this short period. While she couldn't trust his motivations, she had complete faith that he couldn't possibly mean her any harm.

"This is nice…"

Her eyes drifted shut, a thick layer of blonde lashes fanned against her rosy cheeks as mortal breaths deepened signifying coming sleep.

"I think… I'll say it tomorrow… maybe…"

* * *

He felt her tense after he pulled her onto his lap, but once he got her settled she melted, his large cool hand running along her legs slipping up under her skirt. Her warmth, the scent of her, and all that soft skin were far more intoxicating to him than the scotch.

" _I've never been drunk before,"_

"I'd have never guessed babe," he chuckled into her hair, his hand traveling farther up her leg and kneadingall the way.

" _... or sat in a man's lap. Other than my father when I was little."_

"He doesn't seem like much of a man in the first place, sweetheart."

He shifted in his chair enough that he could prop his feet back up on the windowsill and pull her in closer to his chest. A soft contented rumble erupted from his chest. He could feel her starting to drift off to sleep and realized he hadn't felt this content since before he died, and maybe not even then.

" _I think… I'll say it tomorrow… maybe…"_

"I wouldn't worry too much about that, babes..."

He pressed a soft kiss to her temple. Once he was sure she was asleep he pushed to his feet and carried her down to her room. He was loath to leave her there, not when he didn't have to. Therefore, he carefully placed her in the bed before laying down next to her, cradling her to him as much as he was able.

* * *

The next morning, Lydia awoke with a fuzzy mind and mouth, pinned hopelessly to her bed beneath a deadweight of limbs, thick arms around her waist and a heavy leg slung over her hips for good measure. Head pounding, she suffered a pained moan once the pulsing ache in her temples hit her, struggling weakly beneath him to free herself.

"Bee," she croaked, throat dry. _"Beej!"_

He was snoring loudly. What happened last night that he felt at ease sleeping in bed with her? At least they were both clothed still. It took some work, but she was eventually able to wriggle enough to sit up, his arm still vice-like around her hips, a face smushing into her thigh.

In truth, she didn't drink all that much, but it was strong liquor and she was a tiny thing.

"Betelgeuse," she whined thoughtlessly, then gasped. _That was three._ Her breath was held in anticipation, but nothing happened. He kept sleeping and she kept needing to use the bathroom. Scowling, her thigh jerked against his cheek, forcing him awake.

_"Hey._ Get up."

* * *

Betelgeuse didn't sleep often but when he did, he slept like the dead. It wasn't that he _couldn't_ feel her moving around trying to get out of his grasp. It was more that when he slept it seemed like rigor would set it and it took a little bit to get shit working again.

_"Betelgeuse."_

The divine pain from the summoning ripping through his ribcage, making him groan. He felt her jerk again and was finally able to get his eyes open and loosen his grip on the warm little treasure.

He had never been summoned while asleep before, not that he slept with any regularity. Now fully pulled into the land of the living, the girl, _his_ girl was even more enticing. The smell of her was everywhere. He could really feel how soft the bedding was and how fucking _good_ she felt.

Slowly, he tipped onto his back in the bed and grunted "mornin' babes" before he felt her slip from away. His eternally stiff neck and shoulders were even more rigid as he tried to get his limbs working again.

* * *

The girl stumbled a bit on her way to and from the bathroom. Her new bedroom may have been small and windowless, but she at least had her own bathroom and closet. Far too trustingly, she proceeded to collapse back in bed beside him upon her return, unwilling to give it up just because she had a few reservations over his being there.

"Why are you in my bed?"

She didn't sound angry. Tired and groggy, certainly confused, but not angry.

"Did I…?"

Oh God, the more clarity returned to her, the more she realized how very bad this was. What might she have done in a drunken state? Last she remembered, she was happier than she had been in a long time, secure in his arms, feeling _wanted_ … that was dangerous. What if she felt _too_ good? What if she did something brave that she now couldn't remember? Searching, she ran her hands along her body as if she might be able to feel a fading touch, but nothing seemed different.

Would she even be able to tell?

* * *

She didn't take as long as expected, back before the sheets even had time to cool. He propped himself up against the headboard of her bed and stretched lit a cigarette when she crawled back in snuggling against his hip.

" _Why are you in my bed?"_

"Do ya' not want me here, sweets?" He blew a few smoke rings, his free hand playing in her hair. He rolled his shoulders a little to try and loosen up, his senses in overload. Everything was just a little too loud, too colorful, too _much_. He wasn't sure how long it had been since he was summoned last, but it obviously had been far, far too long.

" _Did I…?"_

That made him frown as he regarded at her, his hand still kneading her scalp.

"Did ya' what?"

* * *

The line of her mouth squirmed. His question was more uncomfortable than hers.

"Nevermind."

No, they hadn't done anything. He would say something if they did. _He would_. Unconvinced, but unwilling to clarify further, Lydia groaned as she sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and mentally preparing for the day.

"My first day at the new school is tomorrow," she informed, dilly-dallying on the bed next to him and not immediately getting up to brush her hair or teeth. She would in a moment, but her head was still throbbing… and she _did_ enjoy his presence there. Talking to him was easy. Or maybe it was just that after going so long without anyone to talk to about anything, she hadn't developed any sort of filter.

"I don't want to go."

* * *

"Ya' mean yer gonna have ta' leave?"

It wasn't quite a whisper. Clearing his throat, he did away with his cigarette. He didn't like that. She was so delicate, vulnerable… his head shook. He hadn't even considered her having to _leave_ and not just stay there and haunt with him. When had he started thinking about her like that, and not as someone to scare? That irritated him but he pushed it away. Now wasn't the time to think like that with her snuggled into his side.

" _I don't want to go."_

"I don't really want ya' ta go either," he squeezed her, "but we got today though. That's somethin', right? So, babycakes, whatcha wanna do with yer last free day?"

Just saying that made his chest clench again, no different from when he was bound.

* * *

She was up and moving now, a hesitant grace about her actions as she hadn't fully grown accustomed to the room yet. As soon as her feet touched the ground all the candles blazed to life with a single motion from the ghost, allowing her a semblance of vision.

"I don't know… My plans are kind of shot. I was thinking about going into town to take photos since the forecast said it would be cloudy today, but I don't have my camera‒ and before you offer, just don't. It's not worth it. I'll do the time until they give it back."

Nevermind that it really wasn't her time to be doing, but Lydia would rather not complicate things. For a few minutes, she disappeared into the bathroom to scrub her face and brush her teeth before reemerging to settle at the vanity and begin brushing a long, wavy swathe of ultra platinum hair.

"You could help me set up my darkroom and develop my photos from yesterday," she suggested, staring blankly at the vague shape of her own reflection as she worked out knots. A shapeless white blur was all she saw, poking out from a sea of black.

"Or I could go through the junk in the attic. By the way, if this isn't your house, how come you're haunting it?"

* * *

Watching her move around the room was fascinating knowing her sight was as poor as it was and watching her moving so easily, even though she wasn't completely sure where everything was. If she could see him clearly, would she be so comfortable in his presence? That thought also made him _feel_. Again, he pushed it away. She was talking again as she brushed out her long silky hair.

" _You could help me set up my darkroom and develop my photos from yesterday,"_

"Ya' can see enough ta do all that?" That surprised him, and he moved to set his feet on the floor, still feeling stiff.

" _Or I could go through the junk in the attic."_

"If ya' wanna dig through all the shit up there, yer more than welcome," he stood and stretched, then moved behind her. His fingers danced along her shoulder.

" _By the way, if this isn't your house, how come you're haunting it?"_

Squeezing her shoulder softly, he cleared his throat before answering the last question.

"I….eh...it's, well...fuck, babes. It's a punishment."

* * *

"Hmm..."

She was done brushing now but lingered on the stool to search for the fuzzy shape of his reflection behind hers. He either didn't have one, or she really was going crazy.

"I can see well enough to do lots of things," she brushed off emotionlessly. "And that's what you said about your name problem. You sure do get in trouble a lot. Did you do something bad? _Really bad?_ Worse than breaking stuff? Wait‒" Standing abruptly, she made for the closet to pick an outfit.

"I'll meet you in the attic, tell me about it there. I need a shower."

Concerned he might say something lewd and make her entire face turn pink again, she disappeared into the bathroom swift as a spooked hare, confident in where it was now. The shower didn't take too much work to navigate, and the hot water helped beat away what was left of her hangover. When she was done, she gave her hair a quick once over with a towel, arranged it into a messy damp braid, then pulled on her carefully picked underthings.

They were lacier than her usual bland affair, an impulse buy she made on a romantic whim when Delia forced her out shopping once. Breasts too small to bother with a bra, there was nothing to match the panties as she pulled on a dark peasant blouse that slid just so to reveal a scandalizing flash of her shoulders. That was paired off with a waist-cinching skirt that ended midcalf and a simple pair of ballet flats. Lastly, a different veil than the one she wore the previous day was pulled across the top half of her face. This one was more sheer and forgiving, marking her faith that there wouldn't be any unnecessary strain on her eyes that day.

Some coffee would have been nice, but she didn't want to keep Betelgeuse waiting any longer. Without further ado, she made good time to the attic, veil pinned back for the time being in trust that the space would be appropriately lit. It meant so much to her that he went to those efforts for her comfort.

Flushed from her shower, thoughts, and climbing the stairs, she came breathlessly into the attic, turning around until she sensed him, then flashing a grin.

"Sorry I took so long. Now, which of these boxes has the coolest stuff in it?"


	4. Chapter 4

These questions kept making him uncomfortable. There was no way in hell he was ever going to talk about that. Not the original incident, not any of the things that came after. In part, because it was so long ago and those memories were very hazy, and also because his silence was part of the terms of his name being bound.

" _I'll meet you in the attic, tell me about it there. I need a shower."_

Who the fuck did she think she was? No one ever told him where to go or what to do. Besides, if she was going to be naked and wet, he knew exactly where he was going to be.

"Sure thing babes, see ya' upstairs‒"

And he disappeared, not to the attic as requested but to the far corner of the bathroom, making sure that he was invisible and that she wouldn't be able to hear him. She was already in the shower, the water running, and steam began to fill the room. Thankful then for her limited sight. he made the curtain move just enough to catch another glimpse of what she had under all those layers of clothing. At first, it was just her slim back facing him, and through the steam he could just see the curves of her ass, his fingers aching to touch that soft flesh. When she turned to rinse out her hair, he groaned. Her breasts were small with perfect pink nipples. Knowing what little he did about her made him cast aside the idea of joining her in the shower.

He would have time for that later.

As soon as she reached for the faucet he was gone. She needed to think he had been upstairs the whole time. The furniture was moved back to its original position, the heavy curtains were drawn over the windows, and a multitude of candles were conjured up and set alight.

When he finished and she still hadn't made it up the stairs, he pulled his jacket off and tossed it over the back of his chair, rolled up his shirt sleeves, and loosened his tie. He busied himself arranging a few choice boxes closer to the lounge, then relaxed into his chair.

" _Sorry I took so long. Now which of these boxes has the coolest stuff in it?"_

"I already got ya' a few picked out. 'M not too sure what's in any of 'em but feel free," he gestured towards the lounge and the boxes he moved for her.

* * *

"I would have brought my records," she informed minutes into snooping, "but… you know."

He did. Those were another luxury on the long list of confiscated items. It didn't matter. It didn't take Lydia long at all to find a box of albums and she squeaked happily at the discovery, grabbing a nearby candle and kneeling right on the dusty ground to investigate. Whoever these belonged to had decent taste; Harry Belafonte, Bob Marley, The Grateful Dead, The Beatles.

She never asked for his help, never asked him to tell her what any of the things she was examining were, or to read the covers for her‒ and he never offered. That was important. Worse than being ignored was being _babied_. When a Sam Cooke record was found lurking at the bottom of the box, she sighed fondly.

Now to find the record player. She remembered hearing it from the other side of the large miniature town dead center of the room, which she used as a guiding post on her way to the desk.

_"Whoa, it's all right,  
_ _It's all right,  
_ _It's all right,  
_ _Honey, it's all right,  
_ _Long as I know, long as I know that you love me,  
_ _Honey, it's all right…"_

Her head was lax and tilted back in enjoyment of the music, eyes closed, face serene.

"Do you know whose stuff this is? They had good taste in music."

* * *

He had been thinking about her in the shower when she finally made it to the attic, and hadn't really looked at her when he directed her towards his selection of boxes. When he finally did take notice, he also hadn't expected her to be dressed the way she was. Thus far, she always wore shapeless dresses with layers, her small form hidden. Today, her outfit accentuated tender curves, the skin on her shoulders reflecting the candle light. Once again he was thankful for her limited sight and that she was so focused on the boxes of junk, didn't notice him palm himself through the front of his slacks.

She seemed very happy and content going through the boxes. Now and then, she would make a comment or observation about an item of interest while he slouched in his chair smoking cigarettes, watching her move with smooth grace around the attic. It made his chest tighten when her face lit up and a joyous noise escaped her when she found a box of records.

Downstairs he could feel her parents moving about. They had started to remodel the house and there was a fair amount of noise and activity even this early in the day. He shut his eyes to listen to what Charles was saying on the phone but couldn't quite make it out as Lydia started the record player.

" _Do you know whose stuff this is? They had good taste in music."_

"Sorry, sweet cheeks. All this shit was here when I got here, no breathers." Moving to stand up, he flicked his cigarette away as he took the few short steps to her, his hand stealing hers.

"You know how to dance, babes?"

* * *

The look on her face was precious. He must have been teasing her. She shrunk as he pulled her close, handling her gently but not really taking no for an answer if she was in a mind to give it as one.

"Of course I don't know how to _dance_."

His palm and fingers engulfed hers. A second huge hand settled easily on her hip. _Her knees actually buckled_. Before anything could even happen between them, Lydia felt like a flushing, sweating mess. Butterflies were doing somersaults in her tummy and if she opened her mouth to talk, only stuttering gibberish would come out, she just knew it. No one had _ever_ touched her like this. Only him. It was different last night when she was full of liquor and tired, and he was convenient and comfortable.

Alcohol couldn't be used as an excuse here. She liked him and he would see it and there wasn't anywhere she could run or hide if he said anything about it. That was scarier than any parlor trick he could have played on her.

It didn't matter that she didn't know how to dance. He was patient, and swayed her through the whole rest of this song and into the beginning of the next. It took a lot to lend her trust over like this. With him leading their gentle two-step, she didn't really know where she was in the room anymore. He was her goal post, the only object she had to keep her center, and found she didn't mind that at all. This was too much fun. Still, he was a chaotic creature, and through a nervous, blinding smile, she ventured to ask;

"Please don't let me trip... okay?"

* * *

_"Of course I don't know how to dance."_

She came to him easily as he guided her through the first few steps. He could feel her body heat pressed against his chest, and he shut his eyes for a moment to savor the warmth. When he looked down into her face, he could see her cheeks were getting that wonderful dusting of pink. He could almost taste that faint bite of fear coming off of her.

When the opening notes of the next song rang out, he smiled and pulled her a little closer, leading her through the opening steps of a waltz. With a nod of his head, all the furniture and items she unpacked moved enough to clear them a decent sized dance floor.

_"Please don't let me trip...okay?"_

"Wouldn't dream of it, babe. Sure ya dunno how ta dance? 'Cause yer doin' a real good job of it."

As the song wound down, he braced her back and lowered her into a graceful dip, leaning with her until their lips were almost touching.

"Thanks for the dance, baby doll. Ya did real good."

* * *

Her fingers were digging too hard into his bicep, but she didn't know how to make herself stop. Couldn't slow down the furious pounding in her chest either, which was currently pressed up so close to his that he must have been able to feel it.

"You're welcome," she whimpered, breath hot against his cool mouth. He was _so close_ , she thought she might die. They were too near for her to see much more than his eyes but what she saw kept her enraptured. Deep pools of jade lost in dark shadowy pits, splinters of citrine and emerald fracturing the surface of his irises.

"Your eyes are green." Is the dumb way she complimented them, at a loss for words at their beauty. The kinds of feelings he inspired were why she had dared to show these flashes of skin, to wear uncomfortable lace panties so that if on the _slim off flaky chance_ he was able to seduce her out of her skirt, she wouldn't be a complete disappointment.

He pulled them back up in the silence between songs, a firm hand on her back keeping her close in tandem with her clutching onto his suit so needfully.

"You don't have to lie. If you weren't leading, I probably would have fallen and snapped my neck."

* * *

Fuck, she was intoxicating. So fucking _alive_. From the way her warm little body melted against his to how he could feel her racing pulse wherever their skin touched. He couldn't get enough of her lilac and vanilla scent with just a hint of fear, couldn't take his eyes off her lips.

_"Your eyes are green."_

It took him a moment to come back to himself and focus on what she was saying. Blinking slowly, he licked his lips as he set her back on her feet.

"Are they? Honestly, I can't remember what I look like. Been dead a long time, n' well. No reflection." His voice was low and raspier than normal.

_"I probably would have fallen and snapped my neck."_

"Doubt that. You followed me step for step."

He cupped her face in his left hand, his thumb rubbing along her lower lip. His right hand sliding up her side from where it rested on her hip grazing the side of her breast through her shirt. Deciding right then that he needed to know _exactly_ how soft and warm her lips were, he dipped his head in and pressed his mouth to hers, his hand sliding over to cup her breast giving it a tender squeeze.

* * *

Since meeting him, Lydia had been questioning it, but now there was no more doubt in her mind. She had snapped. Everyone was right. She was crazy and she had imagined him and he was _perfect_. They were going to send her off in a pristine white jacket, lock her in a tidy white room, feed her little white pills for the rest of her life, and she didn't even care because at least her wonderful imaginary friend would be there to keep her company.

When his lips touched hers, she gasped, taken completely by surprise. The hand on her breast made her freeze in abject terror, but did nothing to cool the volcano erupting in her belly. The fingers digging into his bicep were beginning to turn pink and numb. They released, and then so did her breath. A snake-like tongue took advantage to slither and nest in her mouth‒ there went her legs. A sturdy arm was there around her waist to crush her against him selfishly as he lost some of his restraint, introducing his teeth to the equation and nibbling her lips greedly.

So swept up in the moment, she didn't realize she was grabbing him back, kissing him back‒ messy and unpracticed, but passionate as any lover. Her nipple hardened under his palm through her thin blouse and she choked on a moan into his mouth before turning her face away sharply, his attention undeterred moving to the swanlike column of her throat. The dash of fear in her scent took a delicious spike.

"Wait," she gasped, but made no move to release or push him away, her grasp as desperate as before. "I've never… This is going so fast…"

* * *

He was pleased that she didn't resist his advances. Not only that, she was returning them, and with passion. So when she exposed her neck to him, he took the invitation. Nipping softly across her delicate skin, purposefully leaving her bruised, he moved lower and lower. The hand at her waist sliding down to grab at the curves of her ass. The heady scent of her fear causing him to growl into her skin. He was drowning in her scent, her skin, the small pleasure noises she was making. The hand at her breast kneaded at the plump flesh there.

" _Wait...I've never… This is going so fast…"_

That made him freeze, eyes rolling up to glance at her face, a small frustrated sound escaping him.

"You want me t'stop, babes?"

His voice was barely more than a growl. His lips danced along her skin as he spoke, fingers starting to dig into her skin hard enough to bruise.

* * *

His grip tightened. She winced, but even a painful touch from him felt good. _Stop?_

"Please no," she begged, frazzled and torn. Was she ready to let this ancient force to be reckoned with consume her the way he threatened? There was a storm brewing within his complex aura, one that wanted to decimate everything in his path if he didn't get some form of release. It both compelled and terrified her.

What was he capable of, really?

All Lydia knew was that she would rather him keep touching her than not. Whether he loved her or not, if he was a good man or a bad man… it was all irrelevant. This might be the only opportunity she would ever have to experience this brand of human love and affection. They shared a mutual attraction, and what was the shame in indulging it?

"Don't stop. I'm just… I'm scared."

Admitting further weakness was difficult, but she couldn't lie to him.

* * *

She said she was scared. He was very aware of just how scared she was. The lust and fear made it hard for him to think, to not lose control. This wasn't like fucking some dead whore. She was small and delicate. He couldn't let himself get too carried away, he didn't want to break his new toy.

The lock on the attic door clicked as he scooped her up into his arms bridal style. He leaned down, pressing a softer kiss to her lips, taking pains to rein himself in just that much. She was carried to the lounge and laid out before he straddled her small form, nudging one of his legs between hers. Then, he knelt over her and went back to work ravishing her neck, hands now completely free to roam.

One found the bottom of her shirt and slid up along her stomach in search of his prize. He found her nipple already hard and softly rolled it between his finger and thumb. When she arched into his touch, he chuckled throatily andmoved back to her mouth, nipping her lips and asking to be let in. His other hand was under her skirt, fingers trailing up the outside of a smooth thigh, nails leaving thin red scratches as he reached for her ass.

* * *

She was beautifully nervous beneath him, clearly eager to prove herself but unsure in every step she took. It felt to her like she was supposed to be doing more, but he moved so fast and confidently that shy kisses and soft touches seemed small in comparison. His calloused mitt took up her entire cheek with only a little spillover.

Did he think she was beautiful?

He couldn't, but his mouth descended on hers once more and it became easy to pretend. He was so _hungry_. This intensity was what frightened her before, but she wouldn't dare stop him again. Little red and purple marks were beginning to blossom everywhere he touched too hard. She bruised like a flower. When his hand drew up her thigh, she realized for the first time that he had _claws_.

What kind of a ghost had claws? It was too late now to begin questioning his motives, not when her tit was bared to those very claws, its impossibly pale, tiny, pink peak caught between them. He was so heavy, his thighs splayed across her hips, a thick rod of flesh pushing insistently into her stomach.

Lydia busied her own hands with mapping out his body now that she had the chance to do so unhindered. They began trailing through his strangely textured hair, then down the sides of his face and neck, then shoulders. The journey stuttered whenever he was particularly rough, pinching or squeezing or biting too hard, but having no experience she accepted those little bites of pain as a necessary part of lovemaking and therefore beautiful.

"Betelgeuse," she moaned when he granted her a breath to speak, forgetting the rule.

* * *

Being trapped in this god forsaken house was worth it if he got to have her hot little hands on him like this, he decided. He had worked his way down her throat again and was pulling her neckline aside just as she said it.

" _Betelgeuse..."_

That horrific prying feeling from under his ribs came on fast. It made his movements falter. A pained grunt came from him and he leaned back enough to catch her face between his hands.

"Do not...say...my name," he ground out before taking a deep breath he didn't really need, leaning back down to press another hungry kiss to her lips. "I'll let it go this time, beautiful. Won't be so nice next time."

The scent of her fear grew thicker. She had on entirely too much clothing. With a snap of his fingers and a nasty grin, her shirt disappeared, the sight making him hiss.

"Goddam, baby. Could ya be any more perfect," rasped out as he leaned in to take one of her breasts into his mouth, an inhuman tongue swirling around her nipple. One hand moved down to hook one of her legs up over his hip, and he pressed against her as he worked to devour her breasts. He could feel himself getting drunk off her skin and the tangy sweet taste of her sweat.

* * *

Lydia would never forget the lesson he just taught her. When he gripped her cheeks so suddenly and pressed his nose to hers, hissing that order in a nasty voice she had never heard from him but always knew he had, she was ripped right from pleasure and thrown into terror. The visual of green and yellow fire burning down at her while he staked this dominance imprinted the message further.

She would never say his name again.

"I'm sorry," she bleated out in a whisper, eager to appease. Whether he heard the apology or not was lost, the breath of it crushed between their lips when he came crashing down again, ravishing them gratuitously. The more attention he paid, the more they swelled and blushed, darker and darker and darker pink. They were practically cherry now.

Would all of her discolor like that? She was like a blank canvas for his artistry, and he went to quick work making sure her nipples and lips would match. His hips rolled against her heavily, and Lydia couldn't muffle a throaty cry of surprised pleasure. What was _that?_ Between her thighs was wet and uncomfortable. She worried that it was wrong and he would be disgusted when he got there, but at the moment the lubrication made the way he was rocking and sliding feel _so_ good.

Her other leg joined its twin in wrapping around his waist. With all her might, she arched and pushed at just the right time, helping his pace. The sudden wave of sensation this brought down made her entire body shudder against him, her little fist curl in his hair while he devoured her slight bosom.

" _Fuck…"_

It was so quiet, so breathy and foreign on her angelic lips, the dead man couldn't be sure she actually said it.

* * *

As her body trembled against him he realised how wet she was, it made him groan into her skin. Running his tongue over her breast one last time, he started to kiss, lick, and bite his way down her body. When her skirt hindered his movements, he got rid of it with a blink of his eye. He could smell her, the heady scent of her arousal, when he slid his hands to cup her cheeks and realised that her panties had texture to them.

He stopped and took a moment to actually look at what she dressed herself in. _Lace_. She had dressed for _him_. His chest ached again at the sight and he ran his thumb over the pearl of her pleasure.

"Ya wear these for me, baby girl?" He kept up a soft pressure with his thumb. "Makes me think you were tryin' t'seduce me."

He grinned and dragged her panties aside to press a finger along her folds, brushing over her clit without anything inbetween. Palming himself through his pants, he pulled his finger back and ripped the small bit of lace from her body, leaning to bite and lick his way up her milky thigh. Finally, he ran his tongue over her folds. A rumble came from deep in his chest and he was on her like a starving man, losing himself more than he knew was necessarily safe for her.

* * *

There would be darker bruises on her hips and ass than anywhere else on her body once this ordeal was through. His claws nearly pierced skin, but he managed to keep hold of himself well enough not to break her that way yet. The hair on her pubis was just as pale and lacking melanin as the hair on her head‒ but unlike the hair on her head, this had been trimmed and tended to carefully recently.

_"... makes me think you were tryin' ta' seduce me."_

"I did‒ wear them for you‒"

She squirmed and writhed beneath him, expression pained. What he did now was not for her pleasure. It was selfish and greedy… but Lydia didn't know that. He suckled mercilessly, until a wrathful orgasm was wrenched from her, and she bit into her own palm to keep from screaming and alerting her parents. When he kept going, her hips bucked harshly to get him off, but he wasn't satisfied. He was bigger than her and had the advantage with his greater strength and supernatural ability. As drunk as he was on his poison of choice, it would take a strong motivator indeed to pull the fiend away.

"Beej," she pleaded, fingers gentle in his hair, the strained muscles of her caged thighs trembling in his clutch. "It's too much… It _hurts…_ "

* * *

" _Beej...It hurts."_

The pain in her voice made his skin crawl. When he pulled back from his feast to look up at her he could see her body was flushed and bruised and in all states of glorious ruin. Proud of his handy work, he crawled along the edge of the lounge to get back to her face, shifting himself so he was knelt on the ground and could pillow his head on her chest, close enough for her to see him easily. Then, he began pressing light kisses along her collar bone.

"Couldn't help it babes. Hope it felt good 'fore it started t'hurt." He brushed her hair back from where it stuck to the sweat on her face, eyes closed and listening to her heart beat. "That's the best I think I've ever had babes, n' we didn't even make it to the main event."

As he climbed his feet he let out an energized, contented laugh and scooped her up, cuddling her into his lap as he moved to lounge in his favorite chair and conjuring a blanket to wrap her in. Once settled, he pressed another kiss to her temple.

"Was that all ya' wanted to get done today, Beautiful? Or were ya still wantin' to set up yer dark room?"


	5. Chapter 5

He hoped it felt "good"? Platinum brows furrowed. As he pressed enthusiastic kisses to her worn body, she caught one of his roaming hands and his attention, taking pains to meet his gaze as best she could with meaningful intensity.

"It was _exquisite_."

In truth, she was frustrated with herself for not being able to handle more of him. After a certain point, she was just too sensitive and he was so much to take. She needed a break, if only for a minute or two. Thankful for his calm now, coddled and cuddled, she kept hold of the hand of his she caught and held it close to her face, analyzing the details now that she had an opportunity to do so.

His flesh was unlike any she had ever seen before, dead or alive. For the most part, the ghosts Lydia dallied with in the past were pedestrian and identical to their living selves in every way. All that kept them apart from other people was that she was the only one who could _almost_ see them‒ and unlike the living, the dead were usually kind to her.

There was no mistaking that Betelgeuse was dead as a doornail. Fascinated, she gently unbent his knuckles one by one, placed impulsive kisses on the pads of each finger, and scrutinized.

_"Was that all ya' wanted to get done today, Beautiful? Or were ya' still wantin' to set up yer darkroom?"_

Lydia was flushing again, tongue heavy and clumsy in her mouth. _He knew she didn't plan this. Didn't he?_ This kind of teasing wasn't anything she was prepared for. None of this was. She was a little girl playing heavy games with a _man_ , and he played dirty. Now that this world had been opened to her, how was she expected to think about anything else? Instead of responding to his confusing questions, loathe to accidentally give the wrong answer, she asked some of her own.

"Why do you have claws?" There wasn't any suspicion or judgment, or anything nasty really in her tone. "I've been talking to ghosts my whole life and I've never met anyone like you."

They gravitated to her. They never seemed to want more than an ear to listen, a friendly voice to give advice if desired. None had ever asked for as much as this one had. To balm the forwardness of her question, she turned his hand back over, sliding their fingers to match and measure how much longer his were before giving yet another compliment.

"I like your ring."

* * *

Even though they had just spent this intimate time together, he felt a little sheepish as she examined his hands. It was easy to forget that she couldn't see him like he saw her. She paid special attention to his fingernails, her hands looking so small in comparison. Her skin glowed next to his, somehow more pale than his deathly pallow even with its healthy pink flush, though the bruised bits did help to even the score.

_"Why do you have claws?"_

That made him chuckle as he conjured up a cigarette, taking a long drag then offering it to her.

"Guess I never thought of 'em as claws." He changed the hand she was holding into something monstrous with really big vicious talons, then spoke around his cigarette, "would ya rather I had these claws?" He let out a wheezy laugh and let his hand go back to normal.

"I've been dead a long time, babes. S'just how I am I guess. As far as I remember've been the way I am now," he sniffed. When he shifted her a little in his lap she could feel his hard length pressed against her ass.

_"I like your ring,"_

He blew a long stream of smoke over her head and reached to give the ring a tug, once off his finger he pressed the cool silver into her palm.

* * *

She gasped in surprised delight when his hand morphed so suddenly, only staying that way for a moment or so to let the quick gag land before changing back. No, he was _nothing_ like the ghosts she met before. The skillful way he managed to deflect giving her a real answer was lost on Lydia, especially as he proceeded to shift her just so in that cozy plush blanket with his strong arms, positioning her _just right_.

Without a word, he then gave over his ring for her inspection, freeing his hand and granting her another trinket to play with in the process. It was a unique piece of jewelry once she got a good look at it; an ouroboros with eyes made of rubies. _Deadly-voo_. As interesting as the ring was, what he had to show her beneath the blanket demanded more of her attention.

The cigarette was a welcome distraction. So many baser instincts were telling her to run, to get out of this situation as fast as she could‒ but then other more seductive and reasonable seeming impulses insisted that he was ultimately harmless. The destruction of her parents' things was just an act of showing out, like a misbehaved puppy.

He _couldn't_ ever hurt her or anyone else. _Wouldn't_.

Clinging to that thought, Lydia relaxed atop him, took her first drag of a cigarette ever, and blew out the smoke smooth as a jazz musician. Ignorant of the implications of what she was doing and what that specific finger meant, she dropped the overly large ring onto the most convenient digit at her disposal while a cigarette was held between the middle and index and her pinky was comically too small.

Her little hand curled into a fist, confident she wouldn't lose it, and she turned her cheek to press against his strange striped suit. This little bit of happiness wasn't bound to last. She should enjoy what she could.

"Do you really think I'm beautiful?" Still, doubt reared its head. "Are you just saying that…? Only my Mama's ever called me beautiful… _please don't say it if you don't think it…_ "

* * *

He gave her a little squeeze, pleased that the ring had made her so happy. Tapping it with his finger, it shrunk down to fit snugly on her finger. Letting the smoke from his cigarette curl out of his nose, he dipped his hand inside the blanket, fingertips brushing along her thigh.

"O' course I think yer beautiful. Wouldn'ta said it if I didn't mean it, baby doll." He settled further into the chair his hand slowly moving up down her thigh "Can't believe that harpy would ever say anythin' nice. Fuck, her voice is irritatin'."

He flicked his spent cigarette away and brushed her hair to the side before he nipped at the soft skin along her neck. Making a low growling noise in his chest he shifted in the seat again pressing against her backside.

* * *

Lydia stiffened. First, at the bold insult to her mother, and then in revulsion when she realized Betelgeuse didn't know anything about her mother. He was talking about _Delia._ That misconception needed to be corrected immediately _._

"That woman," her words dripped with disdain, more venomous than Betelgeuse had ever heard from the gentle girl, "is _not_ my mother."

Satisfied now that he wasn't going to go on believing such nonsense, she returned to the moment. Boldly, she turned around in his arms until his clothed erection was on her belly and his hands were on her ass. Chest to chest, she shimmied up like this until her arms could reach around his neck and her soft, kiss-swollen lips could land on sweet and lush on his. He seemed calmer now, and the girl was feeling safe to experiment.

* * *

Gently he returned her soft kiss, kneading his hands into her cheeks pulling her forward against his chest harder, hips giving an involuntary buck. Her movements pulled another throaty growl from him. Remembering how easily she'd spooked earlier he decided to let her take the lead, enjoying the fact that she initiated this kiss. Her little arms around his neck felt like heaven.

"Fuck babes," he ground into her again, "ya feel so good."

As he pressed his lips to hers, he also dug his nails into the soft round flesh of her butt, not quite hard enough to break the skin. He dragged his hands down to her thighs to pull her legs to straddle his lap, again moving up and against her.

* * *

After he spread her legs to seat her on him properly, Lydia followed his lead and pulled the blanket out from between them to fall abandoned to the floor. Now if anyone had the mind to go looking for her and break down the locked attic door, they would find her bare assed and grinding on a sneering demon. As they continued with slow, searing kisses, their starkly opposing temperatures meeting in an addictive blend, Lydia learned how to move properly.

Like most everything she did, she took to this with natural-born skill and ability. Her tongue learned to copy his and perform maneuvers that he only learned from practiced French whores in the 1700s. Uniquely in tune to her body in a way that not many individuals were, she moved is if in a dance, sweetly curved milky hips swaying over him in perfect sync with her massaging lips and curling tongue.

It only took minutes for her to turn into this bold, _prime_ thing. Just a little kissing and some warm encouragement. Hungry for more already, even as her hesitant heart thrummed persistently in her chest with reservations, she broke off an intense liplock to sit up straight‒ hips never breaking their graceful pace‒ to peel her blouse over her head, leaving her naked. Now she would be able to _feel_ more.

"I've never felt so good," she husked in his ear after collapsing back against him. She was already feeling out for his tie and shirt buttons but struggled, unsure how to undo it.

* * *

"Babes, jus' pop the buttons, grab both sides n' jus' jerk‒"

He helped guide her hands to remove the tie, his touch roaming up her chest after to palm her breasts and pluck at her nipples. As she did what was asked, he leaned into her and nipped at her lower lip, the buttons flying after she gave a good tug. She smelled so good, her little body so warm pressed against him‒ and she was wet again. He groaned against her lips, trying his best to not lose control again... but it was slipping.

His eyes glowing in the dimness of the attic as she moved against him. His hands shook with the effort to reign himself in as he pulled her closer, rolling one of her pale peaks with his tongue. Boldly, he bit around her nipple hard enough to leave a perfect imprint of his teeth, simultaneously his hand moving down to brush her still swollen pearl.

* * *

He did think she was beautiful. More than that, he thought she was _sexy_. If he thought so, then it must have been true. Lydia ripped the buttons on his shirt like the heroine in a cheap porno mag at his direction, a rush of adrenaline shooting through her at the _plink_ of each one as they flew about.

She started to grind harder, needing more pressure against that secret spot he kept paying special attention to. How had she never gotten anything accomplished with _that?_ Now that she knew it was there and what it was capable of, it would be getting a lot more attention from her. His chest was bare now and she reveled in splaying both hands flat against it, gasping pleasantly at the presence of hair there even coarser and more grittily textured than that on his head. It wasn't a surprise to find it, it was just such a new sensation, just like all of this.

As quickly as she learned, and as fluidly as she was assisting him in climbing toward that peak together, every little touch and scratch and bite still made her cry out. He played with the limits of her hypersensitivity recklessly, pushing so far she sometimes would release a tiny involuntary shriek and push back as though she might actually get away.

"Please," she begged prettily in a bell-like, purely feminine voice that was everything his wasn't. "Please _touch_ me."

He already was, but she was desperate, near hyperventilating in the heightened state of arousal he stimulated her to.

"More… Don't stop…"

* * *

Barely an hour ago this pale little slip of a girl told him she was scared, and that she'd never done any of this before. Now she was riding his lap and begging for more. He was more than ready to comply and fuck her senseless. He wanted to bend her over the lounge and grab a handful of her silky blonde locks and just fuck her until she couldn't stay awake.

But this was to be her first time. She was so beautiful and sweet, so delicate, so _perfect_. It wouldn't do to take her innocence here in the attic. She deserved to have her first time be in a bed, much better than a quick fuck in a dirty old attic.

_She deserved to not get fucked by you‒_ crawled around unheeded at the back of his rotten brain.

Closing his eyes, he leaned his face back from where he had been ravishing her neck, moving away from the little bundle of nerves he was playing with. He had to get some control and get her down to her bed.

"Fuck, baby... hey, slow down a second," he tried to slow his own movements, almost lifting her off his lap in the process. "Ya… ya don't wanna do this up here, right? Let's move down to yer bedroom."

* * *

Lydia didn't understand why all that was necessary. She was perfectly comfortable right where they were, but if he wanted a bed, he could have a bed. Still…

"I'm _naked_ ," she whispered in scandal as if realizing it for the first time. If she hadn't heard the door distinctly click locked when he swept her into his arms after their dance, she would have had a more natural fear of her parents interrupting by accident. If they were spending any extra time going out of their way to look for her, it would certainly _have_ to be a fluke.

Currently, every item of clothing Lydia had put on post-shower was tossed around the attic randomly, black swathes of fabric here and there.

"I can't walk through the house like _this_. Help me find my clothes?"

* * *

_"I'm naked."_

The way she said it made him laugh, like it was a secret. Like he wasn't very aware of exactly how naked she was.

"Honey, ya don't need yer clothes," he pulled her into a hungry kiss as he melted them through the floor, letting it off as they landed among her blankets and pillows. Stretching out below her on the bed, his touch resumed traveling over her small breasts, cupping and squeezing.

"Innit this better babes?" His hips bucked up against her again.

* * *

Lydia wasn't sure what was going on or how it happened, but suddenly they were falling together, right through the furniture and flooring onto the plush cushioning of her bed. Blinking in disorientation, she clung to him for purchase even as he recovered immediately.

This _was_ better. The armchair in the attic was narrow, but Lydia had a King size bed. She absolutely drowned in it when she was sleeping there, but she found she had fewer accidents if there was less surface area on the floor and more cushioning for her to trip and fall into. She was especially grateful for it now.

The ample space allowed her knees to spread wider on either side of his hips, thighs stretched taut with their groins pressed and grinding together. Something about being in her own bedroom, straddled atop this powerful ghost wiped away her inhibitions even further. She would show them all. So they thought she was a freak, did they? She would show them _freak_.

_"Innit this better babes?"_

"Yess," she let out a contented hiss then used tiny, dainty hands to push and pin him down by his chest in a sudden fiery show of dominance. It was out of character, but she was riding his emotions, feeling him out like the empath she was. Cheeks flush and a determined fire in her unfocused gaze, she sat upright while keeping him forced down, silvery hair flying with the motion. Once it settled, she appeared as a conqueror on horseback come to upset the balance of society.

"I want you to do whatever you want to do to me."

He would ruin her, surely, and she would cherish every moment of it.

* * *

When he moved them, it gave him just a little more control. He knew he could hold out just a little longer and wouldn't break her. That was until she pinned him to the bed and moved on top of him like she _owned_ him. The lusty fire that burned in her soft almost silvery eyes and the way her hair flowed around them made him feel like he had found his way into a faery circle. She was almost too beautiful to be real and she was _his_.

" _I want you to do whatever you want to do to me."_

Groaning, he grabbed her hips and moved her back enough that he could get access to his belt and slacks. He made quick work of the belt buckle and struggled to get his fly down single-handedly. His other had moved back to her core, a thick thumb strumming the delicate bundle of nerves. Finally, he got his pants open and slipped himself out in a smooth practiced motion.

* * *

At the sensation of a strangely silky, rigid hunk of flesh jutting up and against her belly, smearing a line of pre as it made contact, Lydia's breath hitched. He was _huge_. A significant chunk of that sizzling confidence faded as curious little hands sought it out and smoothed along the ridges. They couldn't wrap around him all the way, like a can of soda but taller.

"Oh, wow."

She didn't mean to say that out loud, but couldn't swallow the interjection. Could she really handle this? _Him?_ Who did she think she was?

Determined to prove herself, but anxious all the same, her hands tightened and stroked up, drawing even more drops of moisture to bead at the fat tip. She used her thumb to smear them around, feel how sticky and slick it was. She had to taste it. Unthinkingly, her thumb was drawn to her mouth to be sucked clean. Salty, but not bad.

His impressive endowment shook her confidence but Lydia was a trooper and stuck to her guns, working hard to shed the image of the delicate disabled thing made of glass and paper that needed to be coddled and sheltered and protected lest she shatter to pieces. It only half-worked. With trembling hands, she stroked and squeezed, nervous teeth biting into her bottom lip almost hard enough to break skin.

"Is… is this good?"

* * *

Once he was finally released from his slacks, he settled his head back into her pillows enveloped in the feeling of freedom and her soft, testing touches.

_"Oh, wow."_

Oh, yes, oh fucking wow indeed. His eyes jerked open as she started to stroke, her hands so small compared to him. He rocked into her hands as he felt her delicate touch at his head, small grunts escaping him. He was nearly undone when he watched her suck her thumb clean of him.

_"...is this good?"_

"So fuckin' good," it was nothing more that a growl. The heady scent of her arousal mixed with the tiniest hint of fear, and that thin thread of control he had grasped onto so desperately snapped.

In an instant, he had her pinned to the bed, and when he ground down against her it was violent with none of the restraint that had been exhausted since the start of this. His sight had tunneled in on her, vision cast red. He knew his eyes were glowing and just gave over to the lust. Her arms were pinned above her head with one of his large hands. True claws pressed into her skin. His free hand reached up to grip around her throat as he rutted against her, not even enough control to try a slip inside her. When he pressed a violent kiss to her mouth, forcing his snake-like tongue inside, fangs cut her lips carelessly as he bit at them.

* * *

A surge of otherworldly power swept through the room, killing the candles and leaving a pair of predatory, glowing yellow eyes the only source of light in the vast dark. A surprised scream tried to erupt when he flipped them so suddenly but it was swallowed by his ravaging mouth. She couldn't move, couldn't see‒ excepting his terrifying gaze promising debauchery as it raked over her. She could barely even breathe through the brutal kissing as panic started to crescendo again, heart pounding and blood rushing through her ears.

There was a _monster_ on top of her and his intentions were impossible to gauge. It hurt when he broke skin and tasted blood, but he didn't seem to notice the little tears swelling on the lid of her eyes, the way she whimpered and flinched back with his advances. Did she do something wrong? His lust was so toxic, she nearly felt punished.

"Beej," she whimpered painfully, wincing as his elongated fangs threatened to just rip out her throat entirely. She couldn't see them in the dark, couldn't see anything but his animalistic gaze, but they felt lethal. Even through all this fear, she _still_ wanted him, couldn't bear the thought of pushing him away. He was already forgiven for every nip and cut and bruise. This was all so confusing in a way that Lydia didn't have the capacity to process.

All through the attack, his hips crushed her heavily down into the mattress, the grind on her clit treading the line of pain. The unforgiving grip around her neck tightened, making it difficult to choke out;

"You're… scaring… me…"

* * *

He reached his end, his release painting her torso. As he laid with her his tongue caressed her neck. When he found little pinpricks of blood left behind from his claws, he moaned against her neck, lapping them up until the flavor stopped coming. He was sated for now, but the smell of she and her terror mixing was just too good and he didn't want to leave the warm embrace of her body.

_"You're...scaring...me…"_

Her sad little voice cut through the fog of his mind like a knife. Instantly he could smell the sex, yes, and the fear… but also the blood and tears clinging to her cheeks. She had said he was scaring her. Sure, she had been scared around him but never because of anything he did _to_ her. It felt like a spike had been stabbed through what was left of his heart.

In a rush he was off of her and had her cradled against his chest, shaking still-clawed hands checking the wounds. His thumb ran along her ruined lower lip. As he looked her over he noticed his sight wasn't quite right yet. He could still see the vapors of fear she exuded, which portions of perfect porcelain flesh had the most blood rushing through them at the moment.

"Babes, ya' okay?"

He softly brushed her sweaty hair back from where it stuck to her face, his words hissing around his fangs, gaze still glowing gold.

* * *

Lydia was decidedly not okay. All the warring emotions that had been driving her since they fell into each other's arms came to a head. Suddenly, she was crying and she couldn't put words as to why. His question went unanswered as she muffled an already quiet sob into the bared portion of his chest, the wiry hair there remaining a comfort.

So much of her hurt and they hadn't even had sex yet. It seemed like he was doing it on purpose‒ like he _liked_ it. She would be lying if she said she didn't like some of it too, but she couldn't understand why what had happened occurred the way that it did. It was all too much, too soon, and she was shamed further to realize she was disappointing him.

Crying wasn't _sexy_. What the fuck was she even doing? _Who did she think she was?!_ He was probably right. She was trying to seduce him. Now she had exactly what she wanted and was acting like a stupid spoiled broken little girl.

She didn't dare speak past a barely audible apology that didn't make any goddamn sense to the bewildered dead man. When she realized her belly was _wet_ with something cold and sticky, her weeping intensified. _What was that?! Did it come from him?!_ There was too much to process and Lydia was struggling to catch up.

* * *

"Fuck, don't… aw shit... don't cry, sweetheart."

He was trying to comfort her but was at a complete loss. Why was she crying so much? They'd had two rounds of great sex all things considered, so why was she this upset?! He did his best to soothe her, rocking her against his chest whispering sweet nothings.

She enjoyed when he was rough with her the first time. Granted this time had been a little more extreme… he hadn't lost control like that in a very very long time. To be fair, he hadn't had a good fuck in a very long time either. Maybe she wasn't a fan of the blood? As he looked her over it dawned on his just how abused her poor little body was. There was barely any unmarked skin left. At first, it made him proud that he'd marked her but now that he stopped to think about it...

_Oh, fuckin' hell._

He was her first experience and he had obviously fucked that up judging by how hard she was crying, her little body shaking. His chest was tight. There was a throbbing ache present not quite like when he was summoned but close.

"Oh, baby girl, please it's okay," he could feel himself shifting back to normal. The monster found pleasure in her fear happily enough but was a fickle being. Where he found only contentment before he now felt distinctly _not_ content. He didn't want her crying and upset a moment longer. This wasn't something he could just fix for her like he did with the lights or moving furniture.

It sounded like she tried to say something but then she just started crying harder. Just to make sure, he checked her over again to see that she wasn't hurt badly somewhere but he didn't find an injury that would cause her to cry like this.

"Lyds, please, what can I do, what's wrong?"

* * *

At the desperation in his tone, the way he was begging for her so genuine and sweet and _sorry_ , Lydia found courage to unbury from where she was hiding against him. The candles were aglow once more. His eyes weren't. The little aches and pains from where he went at her so fiercely were already beginning to heal with his honeyed way of speaking to her.

"I‒ I‒ I'm _s‒ sorry..._ " She stuttered horribly for him, yanking at long-dead heartstrings wrapped around all ten of her pale digits‒ not that either of them were aware of this. "You don't‒ you don't have to stop."

Maybe this could be salvaged. She could still be a right and proper girl and learn how to enjoy sex the way the rest of them got to. It spoke to her innocence that she clearly didn't realize he had already finished.

"I'll stop crying." In her desperation to calm herself and become desirable again in his eyes, her stuttering even seemed to be getting better. "I just _hurt_... and I didn't‒ didn't think it would be like that."

More than physical pain brought on this torrent of tears, but Lydia didn't have the emotional intelligence to vocalize this for him.

"Can we just... go back? Pretend I didn't do this? I won't cry anymore, I promise."

* * *

He sat there and held her and was at a complete loss.

"Lyds, you didn't do nothin' wrong." He kissed her forehead and rocked her a little more on his lap. "Whaddya mean we don't hav'ta stop?" He leaned back far enough to grip her chin and make her look up at him.

"What hurt, sweets?"

He started pawing at her limbs and torso again to triple check that there wasn't anything serious. He didn't intend to make her hurt. That made him feel...bad? Guilty? Is that what he was feeling? Guilt? _Fuck_. This was not what he intended when he kissed her upstairs. This wasn't what he intended in engaging with her at all. He knew his control was rocky at best and still he pushed on. They could have just stopped after he treated her upstairs but now he had acted like a monster. To be fair, he _was_ a monster… but she didn't deserve that. Not his beautiful little faerie queen.

" _Can we just... go back? Pretend I didn't do this? I won't cry anymore, I promise."_

"Go back ta what?" He was honestly very perplexed, "cryin' or not, babes, we were done…"

Realizing with more than a little amusement and pride that she was covered in his jizz, he stood with her and started to head for the bathroom.

"Let's get ya' cleaned up baby girl."


	6. Chapter 6

That was it?

"But... you didn't..."

_Why did you expect him to, Lydia? You only just had your first kiss today. Calm down._

The girl's knowledge of sex was unfortunately lacking but she knew enough to know that the deed had not been completed. This was a win-win then. He wasn't mad about anything, she hadn't disappointed him or done anything wrong, and she got to keep her virginity for another day when she wasn't an ugly crying mess.

The ball of anxiety in her tummy uncoiled a bit.

_"What hurt sweets?"_

Pouting, big-eyed, and sniffly but quickly calming from feeding off of his tempered energy, Lydia proceeded to point out her boo-boo's.

"My neck, and my lip."

Gingerly, she pointed at each little stinging cut‒ as if embarrassed, as if she were clumsy and they were all her fault. Her shoulder and left breast were next. None of the nicks were deep enough to scar, but a few were still bleeding. She was good enough to not complain about the bits of her that were tender and bruised. They would just have to be covered from her parents until they healed.

* * *

Once they arrived in her bathroom she noticed that the tub was already filled with warm sweet-smelling water. Betelguese set her on the edge of the tub to check the few spots that were still bleeding before he conjured a washrag and wiped at her stomach and breasts, cleaning her up.

"I can't heal. That's outside o' m'capabilities, babes. Would if I could."

He had never wanted to heal anyone or anything before but he did now more than ever. If it would take that horrible look out of her eyes, he would do it. He _wanted_ to do it.

"Let's get ya in the tub n' cleaned up."

He helped her slowly slip into the warm water, keeping ahold of her hand once he had her settled. He still had that horrible feeling that must have been guilt clawing around inside of him. He also never wanted to see that look on her face ever again. He much preferred when she smiled and laughed. Her being sad and defeated like this made him want to go back to the attic and not come out.

"Tell me, babes, why'd ya think we weren't done?"

He got his pants back in place, zipped, and buttoned before sitting next to the tub to help her pin up her hair.

* * *

The water was lovely, exactly the perfect temperature and dressed up with the oils and soaps she preferred. His attentiveness was lovelier. Maybe being babied wasn't all that bad. Still, she wasn't one-hundred percent comfortable with her body and nudity despite her lust-driven bravery earlier. Once she was deposited in the tub and free of his arms, she crossed her own over her chest.

" _Tell me, babes, why'd ya think we weren't done?"_

Keeping her tarnished modesty intact, she drifted near the edge of the tub to let him wipe leftover blood away with a soft, damp cloth.

"Because we didn't… you know…" She hinted heavily, cheeks flush for reasons beyond the steam. When he paused a beat too long, she continued in a scandalized whisper. "... _have sex._ "

* * *

That made him snicker, but once he saw the look on her face and how traumatized she seemed about it he sat hard on the floor and pulled a lit cigarette out of the air. Thinking back over the last half hour and how she had apologized to him... _fuck_. Again, that alien twisting sensation rocketed through his chest.

"Honey, y'know ya don't hav'ta…"

He caught her chin to get her to look at him.

"Have… eh… ya know what we did _is_ sex, right?" That he had to explain this to her turned his gut further.

"Is that part o' why ya were so upset?" He leaned over the water towards her so their noses were almost touching, making sure she could see him, fingers moving back to play with her hair. "'Cause ya thought we didn't?"

* * *

"I thought‒ I thought we were going to… but… but that we stopped because… because of _me_."

Because she was weak and stupid and couldn't handle a little scratch or two. She wished very badly to hide from his gaze, as beautiful as it was, but couldn't bring herself to jerk away from the comforting scratch of his claws in her hair.

"I didn't mean to be such a baby about it…"

This was normal, wasn't it? Granted, her father and Delia's sex life was uninteresting‒ i.e. repulsive‒ to Lydia, she sometimes heard similar noises to the ones she made coming from their room. It made her feel small and ugly to think Delia could accomplish something that she couldn't. Her bottom lip trembled. She could feel tears rising again and clenched her eyes shut to force them back.

* * *

He saw her lip come out and the tears start again and he leaned in closer, almost dropping his cigarette, pressing a kiss to her lips gently.

"None o' that. Why're ya cryin' now?" He made an exasperated noise. "Ya weren't a baby. I'm just a lot, n' I mighta…"

He swallowed.

"M'just a lot, babes."

Sitting back down so he wasn't hovering over her, he took a drag off his smoke.

"Ya did good. _Really good_. 'Specially fer yer first." He watched her in the water, his forearms and chin resting on the edge of the tub, smoke curling out his nostrils and the butt clenched between his teeth.

"Ya really are beautiful, y'know?"

His fingers trailed along the top of the water causing ripples. Knuckles grazed her chest before he pulled his hand back to take his cigarette and let out a few perfect smoke rings.

* * *

He told her she was beautiful, and she _believed_ it, and then things didn't seem so bad anymore. How silly she was to make such a big fuss out of nothing. He did like her. She didn't do anything wrong. There was nothing to worry about. The arms wound tight around her chest loosened, and she swayed into his touch until her cheek was resting on the edge of the porcelain and he had free reign to keep petting in that gentle way she liked.

"I don't think I want to sit here anymore."

The bleeding had stopped, and she was already clean from her shower that morning. The effort on his part to bring her here was sweet, though. When his caressing palm neared her lips, she tilted her jaw up to place a butter-soft kiss on the rough skin there.

"We can put on a movie. If you want."

There was a gently used television in her room, and she had movies. Listening to them was fun sometimes. Mostly, she was just interested in films based on books she had read. Watching them in any capacity, even up close, was simply impossible but she was eager to keep her new friend-turned-lover near. He was her first. Likely her only.

* * *

She wasn't crying anymore but she still didn't sound like she had earlier in the day. There was a shadow behind those pretty blue eyes that made his insides feel all twisted up. After she kissed his palm, he flicked away the cigarette and got her a towel.

" _We can put on a movie. If you want."_

He held the towel open for her and offered a hand out of the big tub. She looked so much smaller than she had when he peeked at her in the shower that morning. Currently, she looked more like a sad wet kitten than a faery queen.

"Yeah, sweets, that sounds wonderful. I didn't know you… y'know… watched movies…"

He bundled her into the thick towel and his arms before carrying her back to bed. With a lazy sweep of his arm, she was dressed in a long black sheer nighty‒ and nothing else, hair instantly dried and pooling around her shoulders like captured moonlight.

His jacket and shirt were ditched on the floor before he settled next to her on the pile of pillows.

"Whatcha' wanna watch, sweetheart?"

* * *

Lydia couldn't tell how see-through her conjured nightwear was, giving only gratitude and whispered thanks when he crawled in beside her and she felt the bed dip with his weight. Because she didn't know how much was on display, her movements were natural and she didn't make any more attempts to cover herself out of embarrassment or misplaced shame.

"I don't 'watch' movies."

She hoped that much would have been obvious by now but didn't blame him for misunderstanding. It was weird for a visually impaired person to suggest something like that, wasn't it?

"Most of the time, I read or take photos but it's nice listening to them. It can be frustrating sometimes when I lose parts of the story but I know all the stories on that shelf. I won't miss anything."

She missed _so much_ , all of the time, but it was okay. Lydia saw a lot more than people gave her credit for.

* * *

"We don't have ta… put a movie on."

Frowned over at her, he contemplated her situation. He honestly didn't get it. She was so independent and she said she wasn't completely blind but the way she described her life she might as well have been. Picking up her little hand in his, he squeezed it softly.

"Let's figure somethin' else we can do….we could read a book together?"

He cringed at that but she said she liked to do that, right? Fuck. Yeah, they could read a book, and she would probably ask him and he knew he would do it for her but it wasn't the most appealing prospect. Starting to get frustrated, he felt the bed shift and grumble under them before regaining control and setting it back down carefully.

* * *

The entire bed shook, and Lydia recalled the exact sensation from when he was still bound to a bodiless form and unable to speak, frustrated with her for not understanding him. Was he frustrated now? The tentative confidence she was building wavered the tiniest bit. An idea came to her; a compromise.

"I don't mind watching movies, but if it matters to you, I can read _Frankenstein_ again while you watch the movie, or…"

That did sound rather dull, didn't it? Like an old married couple that had completely lost interest in one another.

"Or‒ or I could read it _to_ you…?"

Immediately, she regretted the suggestion, never having done such a thing in her life and unconfident in her narration skills.

"Or we could just talk to each other."

If Lydia had learned anything from her disability, it was that people were all too eager to distract themselves from one another with thoughtless noise and media.

"Or… none of those things." Her heart lurched. "You don't have to keep me entertained. I'll be okay by myself if you want to be alone."

* * *

Be alone? No, nope, not gonna happen, not when the alternative was to lay in her bed with her all afternoon while she wore that yummy little slip. Suddenly, he had a _wonderful_ idea, a devilish grin spreading across his face as it formed fully in his rat-like brain.

"Hey, babes, why don't _I_ read to ya? I got a book I _know_ you ain't read yet."

He leaned over to kiss her on the forehead before disappearing with a small _pop_ of displaced air only to reappear moments later with an ancient book. The heavy tome was pressed into her hands.

"Ya said you've been seein' ghosts all yer life, right? Ya ever wonder 'bout _the rules?"_ He vibrated with excitement.

"Well, this it. That's the handbook. All the secrets o' the afterlife. Well… the book is shit but it makes an entertainin' read the first go around, so whaddya say, doll?"

An old, battered pair of reading glasses were pulled out of thin air. Reading bedtime stories to her sounded like a boring prospect, sure, but if he could piss off Juno in the process? Well then, that made the mindnumbing mundanity all worth it.

* * *

At the phrase "ain't read yet", he had her curiosity. When he returned bearing what he claimed to be a volume containing all the secrets and mysteries of death, he had her attention. With childlike wonder, gentle hands traced the binding and the front cover, committing the details to memory. It was held close to her face for long moments so she could absorb what she could; _The Handbook for the Recently Deceased_. Art depicting a man and a woman staring off into the sunset.

"This… this is _the_ handbook, isn't it?"

She had heard it referenced before by a stray spirit every now and then but none would ever diverge any further details about it when queried by the curious mortal. Betelgeuse wasn't like any of _them_ , though.

"The one that everyone gets? Do you know…"

She fiddled nervously, terrified of the answer, and flipped through pages she couldn't read just for the feel of it.

"... if they print it in braille or not?"

* * *

"Lyds, it's a magical handbook…"

He watched her page through and run her fingers over the words, the print too small for her to hope to ever read the traditional way.

"Mine's a real old copy but yer with the Ghost with the Most." He pressed a hand to the ancient book and forced his will into it. Braille began flowing down each page.

Pulling her onto his lap, he read over her shoulder as she held the book up for him. He was used to reading in dim light and his specks weren't in the best shape so he started off a little slow. It wasn't like he didn't have most of the damn thing memorized. Because she held the book for him, his hands were free to wander the warm expanse of her body. He settled on a lingering caress of her thighs as he droned on. Once again, he was engulfed by the sweetness of her scent and could feel things starting to stir that he knew he had to control.

At least for now.

* * *

Her lips parted in delight as she felt little bumps forming beneath her fingers, right under the printed text so they could both read it simultaneously. The braille deformed the letters just a bit, but Betelgeuse's vision was excellent and this did nothing to deter his ability to read it. On the random page she found herself, her finger trailed across a phrase that made her frown thoughtfully.

**Never trust the living.**

Compared to the rest of what she had read so far in an excited rush, this was very blunt, firm, and easy to understand without further dissection. Just four words, resolute and leaving no exceptions or room for argument. It was a sensible rule, all things considered, but its existence still gave her a pang of irrational hurt.

"You can trust me," she pouted, making the incorrect assumption Betelgeuse actually followed any of the rules in this thing. "I wouldn't ever let anything bad happen to you…"

* * *

"I know I can, sweets," he reassured with a kiss to her cheek, practically able to hear Juno hissing that precise line in his ear as he did so. It was her favorite motto though in this case she might reverse it for sweet Lydia.

"That's mostly fer the newly-deads. They don't understand they ain't part o' the livin' no more‒" he pressed a kiss into her shoulder "‒ if you flip further in there's a section on scarin' breathers outta yer haunt. Iffin' ya can't scare 'em out, ya call someone like me, a licensed poltergeist and-or bio-exorcist."

The last sounded like something he had memorized and repeated a number of times.

"The book's basically to get ya started in the afterlife. Lotsa information, not nearly everythin' ya need though."

Shifting under her, he pressed his glasses back up his nose and glanced down to his avidly studying lapmate. He tried to gauge how she was taking the information that most newly-deads fought. She wasn't freaking out and she didn't smell scared, so maybe he hadn't broken her yet.

* * *

_Poltergeist_.

"Bio-Exorcist" was a foreign term that Lydia could immediately define using context clues but _poltergeist_ , however,was a very specific type of ghost. At his use of that word to describe himself, everything came together in an instant. No amateur to supernatural experiences, the girl had made it a point to educate herself on the strange and unusual. She had only ever read about them, the most famous of which being the Bell Witch. Comparing what she knew about that ghoul to this one drew chills down her spine.

The Bell Witch, or "Kate" haunted the Bell family in Adams, Tennessee from 1817 to 1821, when it finally snapped and killed the father, John Bell. Like a woman, her weapon was poison. Having read in the handbook that revealing oneself to the living for purposes other than scaring was strictly prohibited, Lydia could conclude now that this was Kate's way of leaving plausible deniability for her murder.

The defining trait of a poltergeist, Lydia knew, was that it attached itself to young girls, usually with a negative connotation. Though Kate ultimately murdered the father, the focus of her attention for the majority the haunting was Betsy, the Bell family's youngest daughter. The daughter's engagement to a local boy is what set off the haunting in the first place according to folklore.

Was Kate _jealous_? Was Lydia tempting fate? Who would _her_ poltergeist kill given the chance?

"Noisy ghost…" she muttered to herself in thought, remembering the loud and violent frenzy he went into that first night that got her into so much trouble. A sudden and surprising smirk curled her lips.

"Well, it's certainly accurate, isn't it? Tell me, insect beverage, how does one become a 'poltergeist'?"

* * *

Narrowed eyes began to glow as he sent her a faux glare. 'Insect beverage' was almost as bad as when she suggested 'Heebie Jeebies' as a nickname. He ran his hands up her sides almost seductively before starting to tickle her.

"Listen up, sweet cheeks," he purred, easily overpowering her and pushing her into the mattress to continue his assault, "as much as I _hate_ it when someone says my name, babe‒ n' I _do_ hate it‒ I dun like it when they tease me 'bout it none neither. Names have power, _Ly-di-a_. Do not forget that." Finally stopping, he manhandled her back into his lap, pressing a kiss to her flushed cheek.

"Let's see what other lessons we can teach ya."

* * *

The tickle torture was carried on for a long while, the same claws that sliced and nicked her carefully dancing along her ribcage to make her entire body spasm with laughter. She gasped out giggling apologies and promises to never ever do it again but he wasn't satisfied until she started begging. That's when he let up and returned them to their prior cuddling position. By the time he was done, she was breathless and worn out, sagging against him limp and flushed.

"You're _mean_ ," she complained light-heartedly, the handbook still held open in her flagging grip. It was clear to the ghoul she would be taking a nap soon but Lydia wasn't ready to depart yet.

"I'm sorry, Beej. Keep reading to me?"

* * *

_"You're mean."_

"N' nasty. Don't forget about nasty," he chuckled into her hair, he could feel her starting to go boneless on him and leaned them back into the pillows more.

"Aight, babe, what ya interested in?" He flipped to the chapter on haunting parameters and hesitated ever so slightly before starting to read.

It was very slight but it was there, the subtle sleepy nodding of her head. When he went to put the book down she jerked upright and protested, delicate fingers stubbornly running along the words stamped into the paper. Once her hands stopped moving, he knew she was gone. Carefully, he removed the book and set it on the nightstand before pulling her into a comfortable position across his lap with her safely wrapped in his arms.

Stretching out on her big bed, his eyes shut, just enjoying the sensation of her body in his arms. The sounds of her heart and breathing were a balm on his soul he didn't know he needed.

* * *

The peace didn't last long.

_"Betelgeuse, Betelgeuse, BETELGEUSE!"_

The summoning ripped through his chest painfully, pulling him down, down, _down_ through the Earth's crust and several planes of existence, right into the Nether. He found himself sat in a very familiar miserable room before an equally familiar and miserable crone.

Juno was in rare form. Fed-up and ornery were her go-to emotions but there was a particularly nasty storm brewing in the gray eyes staring across the desk at him. She was slouched low in her rolling chair, maroon talons clutching the arms and a cigarette clenched between her bared teeth.

"You think you're _so fucking slick_ , don't you?" A deep lungful of smoke was sucked in and released through her throat-gash without her tense body language ever relaxing. "This is _low_ , Betel. Even for you."

* * *

"Jesus fuckin' Christ, y'know ya don't hav'ta yell like that when ya summon me, _fuck_ that shit hurts!" He snapped at the old bitch, rubbing his now clothed chest. No point in pretending it didn't hurt or upset him, Juno knew it did and she did it that way on purpose.

He slumped low in his chair. Clearly, she was pissed yet he wasn't entirely sure why.

"The fuck did I do now? Ain't broke any o' yer stupid fuckin' rules."

Technically that was true. No matter what he did to Lydia, aside from murder, he was within his rights to operate as he pleased. She was a living soul in the house _he_ haunted, under his jurisdiction and his will as was his deathly right. Juno knew that.

Conjuring a cigarette, he glared back at the old harpy, sneering, "unless ya changed the rules again June-bug."

* * *

"Do you think I'm _stupid?"_ After this many centuries, he couldn't honestly be trying to pull a fast one on her. "Where's your ring, Betel? Think hard but don't hurt yourself."

When his expression remained frustratingly vacant, as if he truly didn't understand the ramifications of his actions, something in Juno snapped.

"Fine," she smiled and it was an ugly, tight thing to look at. "Play dumb. You know, I hope you get away with it. Marry her. Enjoy your fifteen minutes of freedom. When you eventually get that _poor little girl_ killed, it'll be _your_ ass on the chopping block, and I'm going to make damn sure I have a front-row seat to your exorcism."

* * *

When she asked after his ring he glanced down at the finger it was missing from, momentarily forgetting he had so easily passed it on to Lydia… so what? There were no rules against the living getting ahold of the dead's possessions. Hell, that was how some ghosts performed their haunts‒ through valued personal objects. That wasn't what _he_ was doing but it wasn't really any of Juno's goddamn business anyway.

_"...Marry her. Enjoy your fifteen minutes of freedom."_

Wait on fucking second. Did Juno think… _marry Lydia_ …? The notion made a shiver run through him. He wasn't sure if it was disgust or ecstasy. Not long after entering Juno's employ, he had found the instructions for the ritual marriage between a mortal and the dead buried in the handbook and long ago brushed that exit-idea off as impossible and never going to happen.

"Junie, you honestly fuckin' think I'd _bind_ myself like that? That's got more rules than I'm under now…"

...but it also meant freedom, so as long as Lydia was alive...

"Besides that's a lotta shit t'line up, n' I'm stuck in that fucking house, or did ya forget?"

Smoke rolled out his nostrils as he snickered, flicking ash onto the office floor.

"Ya gettin' senile on me, ya ol' bat?"

* * *

This worked to calm some of Juno's ire. _Wow_. He honestly didn't know, didn't see it. _How fucking romantic._

"How long have we been doing this now, Betel? The better half of a millennia, at least."

This was their game. He tried to get _out_ through the worst most unsavory means imaginable, and Juno rained on his idealistic jailbreaks every time. There was no escaping death. Not for her, not for him, not for anyone. Lady Death was a fickle whore and she always got her due.

Juno would be lying if she said she wasn't jealous at how he managed to weasel out of eternal civil servitude, but she would never stoop to his level, do the things he had to do to get what he had. It was beneath her. She was the _law_ , in life and in death, and that is what she would always be.

"I can count on one hand how many women you've given _anything_ to, much less a ring. If you'll recall, the other one who got your ring is the reason you're here."

It was considered a cruel faux-pas in the afterlife to purposefully remind other souls of their death. Juno was aware of this.

"History _does_ repeat itself, doesn't it." This was not a question. "It's sad, it really is. I like her. She's a sweet girl. I understand why you like her too. I wish she didn't have to die so that you can see your comeuppance, but we both know you're not in the business of keeping things alive."

The grimy spirit before her looked as though he was ready to pitch another fit, but Juno was done. What she wanted to say was said, it was off her chest, and now she could go back to managing her other cases, all of which were much simpler and less headache-inducing than his.

"I'm sick of looking at you. Get out of my sight."

With that, he was sucked back through the vortex in an instant, right where Juno wanted him; in his cage in the mortal realm, bound, unable to do more than perform weak parlor tricks. She knew it wouldn't stick, but another obstacle in his path couldn't hurt.

* * *

" _I can count on one hand how many women you've given anything to, much less a ring. If you'll recall, the other one who got your ring is the reason you're here."_

He seethed. How **fucking** dare she? Fuck Juno, fuck _her._ It was just a _fucking ring._ He could do as he pleased with his _fucking ring._ How dare Juno bring up that _bitch?!_

His vision started to go red and Juno's office started to shake. The dark memories from _before_ started flick along inside his head like an old movie reel. Those thoughts were pushed down as Juno kicked him back to the house on the hill.

It was dark, either early morning or twilight. The house was extremely quiet... if this was even the same house. He knew the Deetzes planned on remodeling but this didn't even remotely resemble the same structure he had been haunting the past few decades. He was dumped into what used to be the living room. It looked like someone had puked primary colors over industrial architecture, the effect was disconcerting at best. He also noticed that Juno had _completely_ put him back, binding and all.

Hopefully, he could get Lydia's attention and get her to say his name again.

He was doing his best to not upset the house with the energy Juno had stirred up. He was so mad, he shook as he ghosted up the stairs, feeling out all three Deetzes in their respective rooms, sleeping.

Slipping into Lydia's room, he found her small form curled up in the middle of the too-big-for-her bed. He crawled onto it, laying next to her, trailing his fingers through her hair in a thoughtless quest for comfort.

* * *

When Lydia awoke late that night as they had dozed off in the afternoon, he was gone. She thought maybe he went back to the attic for something or another and traveled there to search for him, learning the hard way that her nightgown was, in fact, see-through after an awkward encounter with Delia in which she screeched and demanded to know where Lydia had gotten such a thing.

Lydia didn't have an explanation. Days later, after much crying and torment and wondering why her lover had not returned to comfort her or tell her why he had let her embarrass herself like that, she braved another trip to his domain.

_It was empty_.

She still wore the ring. Marks of his affection still mapped her from lips to thighs, not that she could see them. She felt the tender flesh, remembered vividly how it got that way. Sam Cooke's record was still in the player, burnt out candles setting the scene to it all. Desperate now to feel his presence, she went far too hastily from room to room, even waiting for a chance to sneak into her father and Delia's private space to feel him out.

He wasn't anywhere. He was gone.

School was awful. They were _not_ accommodated for someone like Lydia. Special books had to be ordered, and in the meantime, she was going to be given one-on-one tutelage from a "qualified instructor." By one-on-one, they meant Lydia and four other girls deemed unfit for public consumption. One of them was in a wheelchair, she learned from the sound of it, and another was in crutches from severe cerebral palsy. They didn't really talk much, any of them, but Lydia picked up things.

The bright fluorescent lights in school were unbearable. She wore her darkest veils and was forced to use her umbrella cane to navigate the halls. She _hated_ having to use it. She would rather be at home in the dark where she knew where everything was and people didn't laugh at her. The first couple of days, her father walked her to and from school until she begged him not to, insisting she was familiar with the route and couldn't bear any further humiliation.

He relented.

A month passed. Then two. Then three. Betelgeuse never returned.

The bruises faded and the ring stayed. Confidence in her sanity was shaken. How could she be sure that she hadn't imagined all of that? Unlike the privileged many, she did not have visual memory to rely upon, not even an inaccurate one. Just a flurry of colors and lights and sound... and his _eyes_. Everyone else thought she was crazy, even her father and his wife. Perhaps it was wise to give what they were saying more consideration.

_… but the ring stayed_.

And the book. And the lurid nighty that neither parent had the gall to confiscate.

One night, she dreamt of him. It wasn't anything lewd, as she didn't quite dream the same way others did. It was all sensation. She could feel herself explicitly enfolded in his embrace, those wonderful claws dragging across her scalp and through her hair, from root to tip. The next morning she awoke and swore she could feel his presence again but didn't dare investigate. There was no point in opening that wound.

Even if he was real, he had gotten what he wanted from her. No, Lydia wouldn't be seeing Betelgeuse ever again.


	7. Chapter 7

Betelgeuse was livid. How long had Juno kept him away? The house was different. It didn't seem to matter what he tried to do to get her attention, she wouldn't even acknowledge him. He woke her up in the sweetest way, petting that starlight hair he coveted and hushing to her in his softest tones. She awoke frowning, staring right through him.

He watched her ready herself for the day; by the sweater she donned, and not her normal lovely layers of black lace, she must be getting ready for school. He touched her hair, moved her furniture. Nothing worked. He was unwilling to damage anything of hers but if she didn't notice him soon he was going to have to take out all his great rage on something.

Something was wrong with her. Lydia's room was no longer the tidy space it had been before Juno had called him away. Even with the absence of the windows and its usual gloom, there was a melancholy feel to it, the air stale. It reminded him of his grave. Not good, not fucking good. The light was gone from her eyes. The marks he left were gone too.

_**HOW FUCKING LONG, JUNO?!** _

When she left the house for school he lost it. She went _ALONE_. _UN-FUCKING-ACCEPTABLE_. He watched from the attic as she began the trek across the entire hill and car and people infested _fucking hick piece of shit_ town. Winter River wasn't huge but it was too _fucking_ big for a small, sweet, little blind girl to walk all the way across on her own.

He was done fucking around with the Deetzes.

The first floor was obliterated. Nothing made of glass had survived. All the electronics were shorted out beyond repair. Delia's studio? Clay and what smelled suspiciously like feces were smeared on everything. All the bookcases and shelves in Charles' study were blown to smithereens. All the furniture was stacked in complicated towers that were impossible to take down without toppling violently causing even more damage, hopefully some harm. When he got tired of making the house shudder and the electricity spark and go out, he started in on tormenting the living.

Delia was locked in the bathroom, and when she finally escaped he just locked her in her bedroom, viciously pleased to watch her scurry wall to wall like the trapped rat she was. All the faucets in the house flipped on and stayed on, flooding both floors‒ all except for Lydia's room and the path she would take through the front door when she came home to him. He knocked Charles down the stairs at one point, and when he tried to catch himself and get back up halfway down, he pushed him the rest of the way. _Forcefully._

Betelgeuse was still trying to figure out how to take down large chunks of the house without destroying the whole structure when he felt Lydia come home. He waited near the top of the stairs to see how she would react to his hard work.

* * *

Mr. Howard, the tutor, had been especially handsy today. He touched her entirely too much for Lydia's liking, and he knew what he was doing. She was sure of it, and she _hated_ that she couldn't see well enough to assess how he was treating the other girls. His hands lingered too long on her shoulder, the small of her back, and her waist as he "helped" her to and from her desk despite her multiple insistences she didn't require the assistance.

She complained once at the dinner table, the comment going unheeded in the wake of Delia's excitement to talk about her newest sculpture. The perverse teacher was tolerable, all things considered, but he was the reason for her showering immediately upon coming home from school every day. His touch made her feel dirty, not like‒

The house was chaos. Lydia stepped through the door and immediately lost her train of thought. Both adult Deetzes were screaming on the phone with various professionals about the state of their home and belongings. Lydia didn't dare try to broach the subject of what was going on with either of them, instead using her umbrella to sweep aside detritus on the path she knew led to the stairs. There were pieces of things everywhere. On her slow trek up the stairs, she hesitated to listen to them shout about broken windows and shorted out lights, and _"who's going to pay for this?!"_

Her bedroom was untouched. Something told her the attic was as well. A fire surged in her gut, not nearly as pleasant as the last one she lit. _He was back._

"You might as well just go back to wherever you came from," she informed her empty room, glaring coolly toward the blank space where she felt a brush of his energy. _"And stay out of my bathroom."_

With that, the door was slammed, and the shower began to run.

* * *

How fucking _dare_ she. Lydia didn't get to tell him what to do. _Ever_. He was in a solidly sour mood from that morning. Downstairs, a crash sounded as a tower of furniture toppled without being touched, Delia screaming as she was locked in the pantry.

"Stay out of my bathroom," he mocked. Well, if she didn't want to act like he was real, then fine. He would make her see, _make_ her react. She may not be able to see or hear him, but he was solid enough. _Little brat._ No one ignored him when he wanted to be seen.

He went through the door. Once inside, he took in the sights. The shower had steamed up the room but as before she hadn't gotten the shower curtain all the way closed. Through the small gap, he could see her nude form standing under the wash of the water. She was still the lovely little cream puff from before. She smelled so good, and looked so… _no_. He was mad and she was here, and she would pay for ignoring him.

Pushing into the shower, he made the temperature drop causing the steam to rise more thickly. He started with small touches. A grab here, a pinch there, a light slap. When he could see her reacting to his touches he ran his fingers through her hair in the same sweet way he always did before winding his fist in the long silvery fall pulling her head back, the other palm going to her throat.

* * *

"Betelgeuse..."

His name was choked out painfully, giving him enough of a summons to have a voice again. His touches didn't _really_ hurt. No, this pain came from inside. Why was he doing this to her? Had he come back to rip out the other half of her heart before leaving again? He hadn't exactly claimed her virginity, so it made sense that he would come back to finish the job.

"Why are you doing this?"

She wept, frozen still but tense in the hold of his spirit energy. What had she ever done to him to make him want to cause her this kind of pain?

"Just leave me alone…"

He couldn't be that selfish, could he? She was weak for him. It wouldn't take much effort to get her to call him back, to give the rest of her diminutive self to him. He would swallow her up until there was nothing left and then _leave_. Was his desire for her body that great that he would let her suffer that kind of heartache in exchange for it? Or did he really just not care at all?

* * *

He flinched when she said his name and the pain ripped through his rib cage. It took great pains to ensure he didn't add any more tension to his hold on her hair, the hand at her throat just holding, not squeezing. He growled against the side of her face, irritation and anger pouring off in waves. The room began to shake around them.

"Hey, baby girl, why're ya tryin' to ignore me?"

His words were bit out, the hand in her hair loosening. He had to shut his eyes for a moment as he got a strong flash from _before_ , a different light haired woman turning pale eyes on him. He gave Lydia a shove to get her away from him, away from _that._ It caused her to stumble and fall to the shower floor. However, the passing almost washed away scent he caught not a beat later made him sneer and lunge right back down to her level.

"Who do you smell like? Who's been touching you?" It came as a growl. He pushed himself in her face, in her limited line of vision, his hand threading back into damp locks. "Why do ya smell like another man, babes? I get pulled away for a lil' while n' ya decide I ain't worth waitin' on?"

He forced her head back just enough to cause discomfort and force her attention to stay locked on him. The steam-thickend room began to fill with the smell of damp earth and rotting leaves.

* * *

What the fuck was he even talking about? Lydia was terrified.

"Wh-what?" She stuttered, still trying to catch her bearings from the fall. It hurt her back and tailbone, the back of her head thudding against the wall painfully, but not too bad‒ still bad enough to require time to recover, time Betelgeuse was unwilling to give. He was suffocating her space before she could, a threateningly gentle handle pulling through her hair again in a sweet way that made her flinch.

"I didn't, I swear, not _anyone_ ‒! I don't‒ I don't know what you're _talking_ about…"

Wait… his senses were different from hers. He _was_ smelling a man, wasn't he?

"My teacher," she offered up desperately, eager to calm what looked to have the potential to be a homicidal temper tantrum. "He t-touches me t-too much. I don't like it. It's why I'm showering. Please… _Please stop_ , _Beej."_

* * *

His presence was gone from within the shower but she could hear the bathroom mirror break. Then, he was back and had her pressed against the wall, kissing her in a way that could only be considered violent. Big hands were rough against her skin as he pawed at her. The smell of her fear had ignited something in him. He wanted to be mad, but lust was creeping in, especially with her naked little body pressed against him.

"How long?" It was almost a growl but sounded more like the him she was used to. "How long was I gone?"

He cupped her cheek and pressed another desperate kiss to her bruising lips, his other hand sliding down her front leaving goose bumps in its wake. The room gave another shudder and something else came crashing down on the bottom floor. Charles and Delia were both screaming again, and it felt like the whole house heaved.

* * *

Lydia didn't know what to do with the deranged thing in her shower stall. Her pulse fluttered beneath his touch, and she saw no other option than to submit and give him her all.

"Three months."

And what an awful three months it had been. In the midst of all the current chaos, the Deetzes below were run out of the house. Authorities would come later to look for Lydia. But for now, they were utterly alone.

"I missed you _so much_."

She still wasn't quite returning his occasional violent outbursts of lust and affection so much as tolerating them, still quite afraid of how he was conducting himself.

"Where did you go? _Why did you leave me?!"_

That one was angry, more aggressive than was likely wise in his current unpredictable state, but Lydia was filled with too much hurt, too much anguish to keep it swallowed indefinitely.

* * *

Three months. Three fucking months, THREE FUCKING MONTHS!? Fucking Juno! That fucking old bitch and her meddling, three _fucking_ months! If he ever got his hands on that dried up old cunt, she would fucking wish she could die again.

" _Where did you go? Why did you leave me?!"_

"Got summoned. To the other side," his face was pressed into the side of her neck. He had pulled her into his arms just this side of too tight. "Nothin' I can do about it, say my name three times and I have to go." Pulling away as he had a thought, he considered her though narrowed eyes, furniture starting to shake in her bedroom making a fair amount of noise.

"Why didn't ya' call me back?" The growl was back.

* * *

That's it. Lydia was done tolerating his temper tantrum. Rage took full control of her, all four feet and ten inches, and she drew back her skinny little arm to get enough momentum to slap this jerk right across his incredibly annoying mouth.

"I thought you _LEFT_ me!"

With enough squirming, she was able to squeeze out of his hold, especially in his stupor of having been slapped.

"You told me to _NEVER_ say your name!"

The water beating down on her was becoming cold, and Lydia thought it ridiculous to stay in the shower. She pushed past him aggressively, thoughtlessly, and on her too rough downstep inevitably stepped a dainty foot on a piece of broken mirror. A sharp cry echoed through the room and she lost her footing _again_ , landing on her ass near the door to the bathroom closet. The very white Lydia in her very white bathroom was now stained with splashes of bright crimson.

"Just _go away!_ Leave me _alone!"_

Her sobbing was back full force now. He had only been back five minutes or so, as far as Lydia was concerned, and her entire home was broken, herself bloody and bruised. How could she continue to feel this way about him?It wasn't fair.

* * *

She slapped him! _That little bitch!_ SHE FUCKIN'...

" _I thought you LEFT me!"_

He froze. He would never willingly leave her… not that he could leave this house even if he had wanted to, and he definitely hadn't, but she still could have called him back.

" _You told me to NEVER say your name!"_

He had, hadn't he? He threatened her. While they were in the throes of passion, he had taken the time to stop and warn her off ever saying his name.

The moment she cried out in pain, he let it go. His sight was hazy red and he still wasn't just seeing Lydia's face when he looked at her. Sometimes, it was this sweet girl standing in front of him, and other times it was the _bitch_ from before. But this girl, the girl now, was in pain and he could smell blood.

He stepped from the shower stall as she yelled at him to go away, scooped her up in a bridal carry, gently set her on the counter near the sink, then knelt to pull the glass from her foot.

"Why weren't ya watchin' where ya… _fuck_." A washcloth was pressed to the wound. "... I shouldn'ta broke the mirror like that…"

* * *

Her crying had calmed to sniffles, and maybe he was done being mad at her but she was nowhere near done being mad at him.

"I want… a towel…"

This was not a request. It was a demand but due to the fact that she was shaking in the cold and bleeding and it was _all his fault_ , the demand was conceded and Lydia gained just that more ground on their hostile playing field. Once she had it, it was wrapped around her shoulders and her shivering slowed as he tended to her foot.

_"I shouldn'ta broke the mirror like that."_

What she said next was probably pushing her luck but she would not back down. He had invaded her space in a hurtful way and if he was going to insist on staying there, he would have to fix the damage he caused.

"Then _clean it up._ You broke it, so _you_ clean it. If I can do it with a broom and a dustpan, then _you can do it, too_."

Braver now, and more than a little pissed off‒ she _hated_ that she couldn't just walk away from him because of the glass‒ she dug her point in deeper.

"They're not going to put up with this. They're going to move and they'll take me with them and we'll _never_ see each other again."

* * *

He pulled the wash cloth back to check her cut. With a tap on her dainty foot, it was wrapped in bandages. Sitting back on his heels, he gazed up at her from the ground. With an impatient gesture, the broken mirror fixed itself and snapped back into place in the frame.

"Ya want me to fix the resta the house too?" He spat back, a cigarette appearing clenched between his teeth. "Much as I hate yer parents I… I don't want that t'happen."

Standing, he pulled her into his arms, moved her back to the bedroom, and set her on the bed before taking a seat at her vanity on the stool. He was still shaking, vibrating with manic enegery, every movement jerky and forced.

* * *

"If you would, please."

She could hear shuffling down below as everything started to put itself back together. Well. At least now her parents couldn't possibly blame any of the chaos on her. She _did_ try to tell them that the place was haunted.

"Why do you hate my parents? Why are you this attached to me?"

Lydia was honestly trying to make sense of it all because she did care about him, and these intense emotions he couldn't seem to control were clearly bad for him. His energy felt as miserable as hers but his was charged with a chaotic spark that felt it could blow at any moment.

"You barely even know me."

* * *

" _Why do you hate my parents? Why are you this attached to me?"_

Letting out a frustrated growl, he scrubbed his face with his hands. He was on his feet pacing across her room back and forth before he spun to answer her, coming in close and grabbing one of her tiny hands.

"Ya kiddin' me Lyds? Why do I hate them? Lookit how they treat you. Like yer already dead..." It didn't come out kind. He was still shaking and his eyes had started to glow softly, "they don't treat ya' like the treasure you are."

He was across the room again, his hands shoved in his pockets. The air was vibrating.

"Bein' dead ain't like...it ain't like before. I don't gotta know ya, I just know I can't not be around ya." This came out soft, barely more than a whisper.

* * *

It was one thing for Lydia to think to herself that her parents were inadequate and treated her poorly. It was another thing to hear it out loud from someone else. Her immediate urge was to defend them, redeem them somehow… but nothing came to mind.

"My real Mom was good to me," she said, instead giving honor to the woman's memory. Maybe it would ease Betelgeuse's burden to know her entire life wasn't as tragic as he seemed to think it was. "She learned braille when I was born so that she could teach me when the time came. Gave up her career to stay home and take care of me. She died when I was young, but I still remember a lot about her."

With so much space in her memory bank free from not having to store images, there was room for a more advanced auditory memory. She could still very distinctly remember her mother's voice singing to her, going over different lessons, watching movies together and explaining the different things that were happening on screen in a warm and entertaining way. Lydia loved her Mother.

_"...I can't not be around ya."_

Her frown deepened further. That just wasn't realistic, as they had both learned the hard way.

"You'll have to be sometimes, Beej. You have to be okay with that."

* * *

He leaned back against the wall. His eyes shut as he took in a deep unnecessary breath.

"I don't gotta like it… but I guess I also don't gotta destroy the house every time ya leave." The sound of her voice, even angry, paired with the smell of her so alive in the small, cramped room started to sooth his irritation.

"I didn't do this cause ya left today. I did it cause ya' had ta go _alone_. Why the fuck're you walkin' to and from school by yourself?!" Rage was resurfacing again, threatening to overtake his newfound calm.

"Its a long fuckin' walk." He spat.

* * *

Lydia returned his ire with another spark of her own.

"I know _exactly_ how long it is, thank you very much!" Down to the number of steps. "I can walk it _just fine!_ I don't need _anyone_ with me! Ugh!"

Snowy cheeks were pink with rage for once. She was _so_ irrationally mad, so infuriated by the reason for his destructive outburst that she had one of her one. Her biggest, fluffiest pillow was grabbed‒ it looked ridiculous in her small arms‒ and she hauled off and flung it across the room in his general direction. It hit the floor a few feet in front of him, Lydia not having the strength to actually throw it hard enough to hit the mark.

" _THAT'S_ why you blew everything up?! You‒ you‒ _I can't believe you!"_

* * *

He watched her mildly as she lobbed the pillow and how it fell short. He cleared his throat and glanced up at her, all the vibrating energy disappearing from the air around them as he pulled it back to himself.

"Ya' know what, Lyds?... fuck it. I fixed the fuckin house. I won't worry 'bout ya gettin' hit by cars or gettin' lost. If ya preferred me gone, then fine." His voice was empty, sounding far too soft for the conversation, "I'm gone."

There was an absence in the energy of the room when he left.

* * *

"No," she cried out abruptly upon the loss of his energy, "that's not what I want! That's not what I meant! Come back! _Please_ come back!"

At least before she had plausible deniability on her side, could imagine kinder things had taken him away from her. Now she knew without a doubt that she had pushed him away. It _was_ her fault. The wound that was left when he abandoned her the first time was ripped back open to bleed gratuitously.

He didn't return, not after a few minutes, not after a few hours. She didn't go up to the attic to look for him. Everything hurt. Her parents returned eventually with the police, only to be fined for calling in a false report. They were on edge. Lydia ignored them and their nerves through a late night supper, too despondent to attempt any kind of conversation. She didn't eat. Her veil covered her entire face, not just her eyes.

When she went to bed at night, she cried and cried, never making a peep and wishing beyond all hope he would come back to her. Pride refused to let her call. She would be damned before she begged, would rather join him in death than do so. All weekend long, she didn't eat, just stayed in her bed and slept and wept. Neither parent took notice, too paranoid and afraid for their own hides to check in on the weakest link.

Come Monday, the skies were clear on her way to school, but a storm came midday and according to the newscast, it was expected to rage well into the night. The phone line was busy at home when she tried to call in‒ probably her father holding up the line on a work call, or Delia chatting with Otho. They had forgotten her.

"Could you take me home please, Miss Shannon?"

Lydia couldn't see it, but the older woman was making an unpleasant face.

"I'm terribly sorry, dear, but I absolutely _must_ get these papers graded and I'm afraid I'm going to be here late into the night. It wouldn't be appropriate for a student to be present on school grounds at that hour."

A voice cut in too close over Lydia's shoulder. A sick shudder travelled her spine that he had been able to close in on her that quietly without her noticing.

"I can take you home, Miss Deetz..."

* * *

He was tired. So fucking tired. This was not the type of tired that sleep would cure. It was the bone weary exhaustion of centuries upon centuries spent fighting to be treated humanely after _just one_ bad decision. One horrible, evil decision.

Truly, there were a number of poor decisions and wrong choices that brought him to that place. He should have known the girl was too good to be true‒ not Lydia but _the bitch_ who came before. He didn't remember her name. It didn't matter. Maybe it wasn't so much that he couldn't remember as he chose not to. Her face, however, he had no choice but to call vividly, along with her voice burned into his memory bank, the way she smelled like cinnamon.

He knew better than to trust her type. What was the saying? Hindsight is 20/20. She was always too friendly, too cheerful, too willing.

When she told him there was a baby, none of that mattered anymore. They were going to be a family. He gladly made an honest woman of her and moved her into his home, bought and furnished with ill-gotten funds. She and the baby would want for nothing with him. He was able to provide, and provide well with his unsavory work. He was even considering giving up the black market trade for good to stay home with her and be a real husband and father.

There had been an unavoidable trip but he was able to make good time and arrived home earlier than _the bitch_ had expected. His men were loading her things into the carriage he provided for her. He stopped them and sent them away, sure there had been some kind of mistake. When the maid tried to waylay him on his way to his bedchambers, to the room he shared with _the bitch_ , his anger had risen and he sent her and all the rest of the staff away, carefully maintaining a low volume.

He remembered not knowing what to expect when he got to the bed chambers. When he saw her with another man in their marriage bed… that's where the memories melded, tinged red with rage and betrayal. One stood out in sharp contrast to all the others. He asked after the babe, and the bitch had _laughed‒_ said there never was a baby and that she would never carry any child of his.

There wasn't much left of their bodies by the time the sun rose the next morning. Just a bloody mess across the bed clothes. When Betelgeuse showed up in the waiting room, he was covered in a crimson layer of them both, the noose still hung round his neck. He didn't remember what he did to them, didn't remember what he did to himself.

One-hundred and twenty-five years in Hell reliving their murders and his subsequent suicide cleared up any confusion the shroud of death left behind.

That awful clarity in itself drove inhabitants of the fiery pit mad half the time before the end of their sentence. He stuck it out, got spat into a cubicle at the end of his run, crawling his way up from the bottom with no one in his corner but _him_.

The early years in the cubicles were the hardest, when his emotions were fresh and still resembling something human. He hadn't felt like that in centuries. Not until Lydia.

* * *

Lydia had never counted how long it took to get from home to school in a car. She had never taken the drive but it couldn't be _that_ long. Minutes ticked by in awkward silence, rain pitter-pattering on the roof of the car. She wished he would play the radio or something, though supposed she was glad he wasn't trying to make conversation with her either.

It felt like this ride had been going on for too long. It was a fair walk but it _had_ to be a short drive, right? Finally, the car came to a stop and she released a breath she didn't know she was holding.

"Thank you, Mr. Howard‒" She was unbuckling the seatbelt, checking the floor for her bag and umbrella. "‒I appreciate it."

And she did, even if he gave her the creeps.

_Click._

When she went to pull the handle on the door, it was locked. Her heart plummeted. He hadn't touched her once the whole ride except when giving her unnecessary assistance into the car but suddenly both of his hands were on her; one on the knee, one on the shoulder.

"Not so fast, Lydia."

She gulped. He had never called her by her first name. _No_. No no no no _nononono,_ _this wasn't happening._

"Let's have some fun before I take you home. You're so beautiful… and let's face it. Your dad's passed out drunk by now and your stepmom's got a pill for every color of the rainbow. They won't miss you for another hour or two…"


	8. Chapter 8

Just because he was refusing to interact with her didn't mean he wasn't always keeping tabs on her movements, especially when a storm blew in over the small town. Most of his time the past few days was spent in a noncorporeal state but when the day started to drag on and he didn't see her little form moving towards the house he started to worry, his form solidifying.

Two cigarettes were burnt to ash in a straight line before he thought to listen in downstairs. Charles was on the phone droning on and on about some development plan or some shit. It sounded like Delia had some heavy-duty equipment going to work in her studio. Neither seemed to notice it was well past the time Lydia should have been home.

Betelgeuse leaned against the window, sucked down another cigarette, and assessed his options. He didn't want her angrier at him than she already was because he overstepped… but maybe he could cut the phone connection and use her voice to ask ole' Chuck to go pick her up. Could he spook Delia into realizing the girl wasn't home yet?

He was pacing. He made it about eight circuits before he felt it‒ the horrific sensation of his ribcage tearing open.

"Say it once," he wheezed. Someone was calling his name. If it was Juno, he was going to destroy the entire floor her offices presided. The pain hit again as his name was called once more. This time, he could feel fear the fear in their call.

"That's twice," he ground around his cigarette. As always, on the third he could hear the summoner's voice as it echoed through his mind. The passing thought _It's Lydia_ swept through him before he was pulled through the aether, a victorious cackle left hanging in the stagnant attic air.

"Third time's the charm."

* * *

Betelgeuse found her with her veil ripped off and hair mussed, jacket gone from her uniform and all the buttons popped from her tidy white blouse, everything hanging out. Lydia didn't wear bras, so her breasts were exposed. She was crying and pushing and begging the shortish‒ but not shorter than her‒ scrawny man on top of her to _please_ _stop_.

The next thing she knew, the car door on her side was yanked open, Mr. Howard was pulled off of her, and she could hear _squelching, ripping, tearing_ sounds coming from just feet away. A splash of something warm and wet slapped her face. Coming back to herself, Lydia scrambled for the door to pull it shut and locked.

Betelgeuse was killing Mr. Howard. It took a long time.

Lydia didn't dare step foot outside to interfere, instead shakily pulling herself back together, methodically taking stock of all her belongings. The worst kind of screams were echoing outside the car. Occasionally, the hood or window would _thud_ with what Lydia imagined were body parts torn off and casually tossed aside. A good chunk of her feared that Betelgeuse might blame her for this in some way and she sobbed harder at the very likely possibility, more than a little hysterical.

Fear kept her frozen on the middle seat, leaving all the doors locked shut even when the screaming ceased and she heard the shuffling of someone on the outside trying to open it back up.

* * *

The moment he solidified and took in what was happening in the car, the door was popped open and the piss ant pulled off his girl before a single thought could be spared on the consequences. He felt himself slide into the monstrous form he kept hidden away. There wasn't any reason to hide it here.

His claws went right through the mortal like butter, peeling off ribbons of flesh to make him beg for mercy then death. It was slow but rewarding work. He pulled him apart, bit by bit, dissecting the maggot down to the joints. When there was nothing left but slow to understand it was dead twitching pieces of muscle he spat down into the pile and moved for the car.

Trying to center himself, he leaned against the passenger side door. Already overstimulated by the summons, the smell of blood and Lydia's fear had him highlyly aroused, a hungry energy vibrating off of him. When he didn't think he would attack her, he tried the door. It was locked. Letting out a frustrated growl, he tried again on the other side. When it still didn't open, he knocked on the window. He could see her cowering in the front seat but she had slid to the other side away from him.

"Baby girl, open the door…" He had to clear his throat a few times before he could make it sound like real words. "Sweetheart, lemme in."

When all she did was try and get further away from him, he frowned and tried the door handle again, struggling with it before just forcing the lock click open in frustration. With a jerk, the door was open and he was leaning inside.

"Hey, baby, you okay? I‒ I know you ain't _okay_ but‒ but did he hurt you?" He reached out with one bloody hand to touch her shoulder, his voice still a low growl. The smell of her fear hit him in the gut and knocked him to his knees.

"Lydia… please, honey, talk t'me."

* * *

"I think… I'm okay."

She wasn't bleeding. Her breaths were coming in and out quickly, probably too fast to be good for her. The metallic scent of blood in the air hit her. Suddenly, it occurred to her that she could smell the dead man all over this car, this car he had been alive and trying to rape her in only twenty minutes or so prior before she listened to him die a slow, horrible death.

She jerked to the side away from Betelgeuse again, this time to wrench open the door and lose stomach acid and water all over the ground. Three days now she hadn't eaten. By the time she was done, she was shivering and coughing, hanging over the seat, sweaty bangs plastered to her forehead.

Rain was hitting the side of her face, but it felt nice. As nice as anything could feel at the moment, that is. It was bright enough out that she had forced her eyes clenched shut through the entire ordeal but now they were stinging and watery in addition to her traumatized tears, her near-transluscent eyelids only able to shield so much.

"Can you take me home…?"

Where even were they? She didn't want to know but also she did so that she might never accidentally step foot there again.

"Without my parents seeing…? Please…?"

* * *

Watching her vomit, he wondered which part had caused her to do that. Was it the pissant in pieces or what he himself did to said pissant? The slop smelled more sour than it should have, which only made him worry after her more.

" _Can you take me home…? Without my parents seeing…? Please…?"_

Moving around the car to the side she was on, he noticed that he was still covered in blood and thicker things but this was one of those things he couldn't just make go away. When he got her back to the house, he would have to do it the mortal way. His hands were wiped clean on the grass before he went to her.

"O' course, sweets." His voice was hoarse but he wasn't lisping around fangs anymore. He opened his arms to her. "C'mere n' we'll go home."

* * *

With a clumsy shuffle and a weak cry, Lydia threw herself toward the sound of his voice, trusting that he would catch her. He didn't disappoint. He was also _disgusting_. A thick, bloody layer of Mr. Howard coated him, and once they _popped_ back into existence in her candlelit bedroom, she scurried from his arms and toward the bathroom to dry heave some more, intermittently pausing to pull another item of blood-stained clothing off.

First went her jacket, then boots and socks and skirt, until all she had on were a pair of panties and her ruined blouse.

"He was going to rape me," she stated simply once she had the breath to, sensing Betelgeuse's presence behind her. Her brain hadn't quite caught up with her body yet. Adrenalin coursed through her system, leaving her feeling as if she could run a marathon‒ if only she could see the track.

"He was my teacher. People are going to look for him. People knew he was driving me home. They're going to want to talk to me."

Tears still streamed down in a constant flow but her tone was devoid of emotion.

* * *

He was right behind her making sure she made it safely to the toilet. His jacket and boots were ditched while she vomited again. He hovered over near, not sure if he could touch her or not.

" _He was going to rape me."_

"I know, sweets, I know… but he can't now. I made sure…" he could feel rage pooling in his gut again and leaned back against the counter. "He ain't gonna hurt no one ever again."

She was crying and he was helpless to stop it. Moving as close as he dared, he sighed as she rambled on about how the pissant was a teacher and people would want to talk to her.

"Babes, don't worry so much. He dropped you off here."

With a snap of his fingers, the front door downstairs slammed and Lydia's voice called out, _'Dad, Delia, I'm home!'_ followed by the sound of feet on the stairs before her bedroom door opened and shut. Kneeling down next to her, he hesitantly rested a hand on her back.

"See? There wasn't 'nough o' him left for 'em to even calculate a time o' death, Lyds."

* * *

The sound of a doppelganger heading up the stairs gave her a start, Lydia turning a deer-in-the-headlights expression toward her bedroom door as if she truly expected another her to come barrelling through‒ but it was all an illusion. An effective one at that. There went a good chunk of the source of her anxiety… all except for the way she wanted to curl up into a ball on the ground and die.

Her knees buckled. Using the counter as a balancing bar, she made baby steps over toward the toilet before collapsing down on the seat, weak and shaken. Reedy arms wrapped tight around herself. She felt so ugly and disgusting and didn't want to leave too much of herself open to Betelgeuse's perusal, leaving the blood and vomit soiled blouse on even though the smell of it made her gag.

His touch made her quake but not in revulsion. She hated being seen in such a weak, wounded state. It was not lost on her that _he was right._ Their fight a couple of days ago when he worried after her, he had _reason_ to. Her face crumpled further in shame and she curled tighter into herself, hiding.

"I'm sorry I didn't listen to you…"

* * *

Sighing, he cupped her chin and tugged up so he was looking into her face, then moved some of her mussed hair out of the way to search her expression further. He was extremely grateful, not for the first time, that she couldn't see him. He couldn't see himself in the mirror but he could feel the blood and thicker things clinging to his hair and face. His shirt was plastered to his chest with the red stuff. She looked the worse for wear just from him carrying her the short time to get her home and safe.

"Don't think on it, sweets."

The shower kicked on next to them and steam started to fill the room.

"Let's get ya outta that shirt n' cleaned up. You'll feel better."

After peeling out of his shirt and slacks, he turned back to look at his girl still huddled in her soiled shirt, unmoving. Another sympathetic sigh and he was moving to help her strip out of it.

"Please, babes, let's get this off o' you. I just want ya ta lose the shirt, I ain't askin' fer nothin' else..."

* * *

Robotic in her motions, her shirt and panties both came off, most of the work done by the poltergeist. His skin brushed hers in the process and she was relieved to find it no longer as thighly coated with Mr. Howard with the loss of his clothing. Betelgeuse was right. A shower was a good idea. Tiny hands gripped his forearm as she let him usher her into the stall. She knew where it was but felt weak. He wanted to be helpful, and he was hurting too. More than he let on.

Once there, she plastered both hands flat against the tiled wall where the shower head stuck out, relaxed her body weight, and simply let herself exist for a moment in the scalding stream, thoughts quiet. It only lasted for an instant before the memory of hot breath in her ear mixed with the sound of ripping human flesh made an intrusion, causing her to flinch at nothing.

"He said… he said that no one would believe me… and he was _right_."

It went unspoken that Betelgeuse was the exception to this rule.

"I haven't felt that _helpless_ since‒ since‒"

She broke off, releasing a shuddering sob into the steam.

* * *

After helping her into the shower stall, he stepped in too. The rain had done a good job of cleaning what little mess that stuck to her but her hair had a few clumped spots of blood from when he held her.

Betelgeuse watched her try and pull herself together, could practically feel her gathering the energy to right herself. Moving up closer behind her, his cool nude body pressed along her back and pulled her to his chest. She was talking and crying even though she was pretending she wasn't. Very gently, he made sure to clean every last bit of flesh and gore and blood from her person.

"Yer safe now. Told ya I won't let nothin' happen." Turning her to face him, he cupped her cheek. "He can't do anything else to you or anyone. He's dead as ya get n' gonna spend eternity as _slop_."

Peppering soft kisses to her forehead, he hugged her back in close to his chest.

* * *

They stayed in the stream for a long while. Lydia didn't move to wash her own her or scrub herself, so he took it upon himself to do it for her with small, gentle motions. He had her dried and dressed in a long nightgown, more opaque than the last one he put her in‒ she could tell by the feel of the fabric that it was simple lightweight cotton.

"Did you miss me?"

She uttered into his neck when he had her coddled in the center of the bed, pulled beneath blankets, and caged in his arms so that no other boogeymen could try and claim her.

"When you were gone all that time? I missed you _so much_."

* * *

"O' course I missed ya." More soft kisses were pressed into her hair. "Couldn't think o' nothin' else but gettin' back t'ya."

Shutting his eyes, he listened to her heartbeat for a moment, cherishing that she let him back into her bed so quickly after listening to him rip another man apart. He was sure he would be hearing from Juno again because of this. Fuck, this was the kind of shit that got him put on house arrest to begin with. They weren't going to let it stand. Juno would lock him away far, far from Lydia…

… Unless…

"Hey, babes. Marry me?"

* * *

Her brows furrowed cutely. She wasn't sure she understood him properly.

"What?"

At first, she thought maybe he was teasing and it landed poorly, letting loose a nervous awkward sort of giggle at the weird joke and disturbing timing. But he didn't laugh. His jaw and neck muscles didn't move at all. None of him did. _He was serious._ Lydia was suddenly just as still as he.

"But… I can't _marry_ you. I‒ I'm only sixteen, Beej. What‒ I don't understand. Why do you want to get married? Can we actually do that?"

He was _dead!_ Did dead people and living people go around marrying one another often and no one ever told her? This was entirely too much information for her frazzled mind, threatening already sparking internal wires to short circuit.

* * *

His eyes remained shut but he could feel the confusion coming off her in waves, her pulse spiking while she tried very hard to stay small and still.

"Sure we can. Who cares that yer sixteen? I'm dead, age ain't really an issue, babes." He pulled her closer, blunted claws dragging through her hair. "No one would be able t'call me away from you ever again."

No one would be calling him away tonight either. With access to fresh human blood, he had taken the opportunity while she was distracted to carve a few crimson wards into the wooden frame of her bed. Now, the Deetz house was a sanctuary from name-summonings. He was not going to have her waking up to an empty bed ever again.

"Yer already wearin' my ring."

* * *

It was unkind of him to ask something like this of her so soon after such an ordeal but Lydia didn't recognize that.

"I don't know," she bit her lip, holding him tighter. The prospect of him leaving her any time soon was unacceptable. She didn't want to let him go again, not so soon after getting him back.

"Let me think about it."

What would married life with him even really look like? Would they stay there with her parents and sleep together in the same bed every night? Though, it did look as though things were turning in that direction anyway.

" _Yer already wearin' my ring."_

"It won't come off," she complained without any shade of annoyance, demonstrating how the band was rigid around her finger. It didn't cut into the skin, just sitting comfortably around her ring finger, the serpent happy with where it lived.

"See? Did you do that?"

* * *

"Take yer time, babe." He sniffed and settled against her a little more, relaxing into the bed. "If I do get summoned again, ain't sure I'll be back. Broke a pretty big law today. The powers that be don't like it when ya go 'round murderin' breathers. Want ya t'know that if ya wake up n' I'm gone, I didn't go quietly."

He slipped a hand up under the hem of her nighty, fingers stroking along her thigh in soft soothing circles.

" _Did you do that?"_

"Nope‒" the 'p' popped. He cracked an eye open to watch her trying and failing to remove his ring. He honestly‒ consciously‒ had not manipulated anything to make the ring do that but if it wasn't coming off, then all for the better. Though the marks of his touch were all gone, she still had his signia on her.

Pulling her closer, he pressed his nude form against hers, the thin cotton of her sleeping gown the only barrier between them.

* * *

Bulky, naked arms tightened around her and she shivered, not from the cold. Was it sick of her to desire this kind of closeness so soon after an attack like she experienced? Something was definitely wrong with her. Many somethings.

Allowing herself the freedom to explore the way he was, pale digits went soft along his shoulders then flattened down his biceps to smooth down contours of muscle and flab. Plush lips parted, petal-soft against the wiry hair on his bare chest, breath hot as a furnace. He was hard against her belly, had been for several minutes now, but every ridge and bump of his girth was clear pressed flush into her nighty, coarse palms firm but gentle on her thighs.

"Please," she began, barely audible, ashamed of herself for wanting, "keep touching me… just… just be _soft…_ okay?"

* * *

"As you wish, babes," he spoke low and throaty, not quite a growl, "Love it when ya ask so sweet."

Kneading her thighs, he pulled her in tight to his front as he rolled onto his back, leading her to straddle his lap. He leaned up, at the same time pulling her down into a kiss by has fingers tangled in her hair, his tongue requesting access to her mouth and hips rolling up slow and steady.

* * *

Lydia knew this probably wasn't healthy but didn't really care. It felt too good. She could control this, wanted this. Betelgeuse's touch helped to erase that of the other dead man's, replace bad memories with good ones. Her thighs melted open with his massage, cotton riding up with his groping hands until it pooled in the small of her back and her nether regions were sliding sleek and slick along his.

She whimpered against his lips, shuddering, thighs squeezing tight around his hips to give her purchase to rock into the wave of pleasure. Her fingers hand moved to his face, carefully recounting the details there she had forgotten since he disappeared on her.

* * *

Holding her in place by her hips, he rolled up against her, his grip leaving fingerprint-shaped bruises on her skin. With a soft grunt and a nip to her lips, he made the nighty disappear, then moved down to pull one of her pale peaks into his mouth, his tongue playing over her nipple. His hips moved quicker and harder. Leaning back into the pillows, he gazed up at her in the candlelight, eyes glowing a soft yellow.

"Yer so fuckin' beautiful, Lyds," his hand moved up to catch her breast, massaging, the finger and thumb plucking at her nipple.

* * *

It was easy to lose herself in this passionate embrace, use him to drive away the memory of another's hands on her. Glowing eyes beckoned to her through the shadows and she drifted close through vigilant rocking until their tongues were knotted again, hips sliding fluidly all the while, harder and faster until‒

"Ah!"

His mouth swallowed the rest of her choked pleasure sounds, her tiny body going limp and breathless over him with the shock of her peak. He wasn't done yet. Eager to get him off but unable to keep sliding like that and stimulating her pulsating clit, she pushed up and reached between them. Once she found what she was looking for, she squeezed _hard_ , compensating for that her fingers couldn't match his circumference.

* * *

When she went limp across his chest, he smiled into the darkness and started to let his hands wander along her back‒ that is until she moved, grabbed him, and squeezed. He hissed out a gasping breath, attention snapping down to watch her tiny hand moving smoothly against his length. His eyes snapped shut as she passed her thumb over the sensitive head, bucking his hips into her hand pulling her down into a bruising kiss, breath and body shuddering with every stroke.

* * *

It made Lydia feel powerful to affect him this way, as if she had a terrible beast on a leash, loyal to her. Didn't she, though? She was running on leftover adrenaline and nerves. Once she had gotten what she wanted from him, she would likely fall into a deep, dreamless sleep, but that was worlds away from now.

"I was so scared," she whispered in his ear while he gasped and bucked against her, comforted to know that he was _hers_ and he cared about her, if only for the moment. This man wanted to _marry her_ ‒ God, that still hadn't sunk in yet.

"I almost didn't think you would come… _but you came_."

* * *

_"I was so scared."_

She didn't smell scared now. No, she smelled like lust, and _he_ did that. He had chased away the fear and put that fire in her. Her hot little touches made him come undone faster than anyone else ever had.

" _I almost didn't think you would come… but you came."_

"Course I did," he was panting out breaths he didn't need, his answer coming out shaky and intense, "I'll always come when ya call."

His hand was tangled in her hair again, dragging her down into a hungry kiss while his hips ground into her hand violently once more. He came with a growl against her lips, his release smearing them both.

* * *

He was sated. Lydia felt useful and beautiful and wanted. With a contented sigh, completely spent and uncaring of the cool release splattered across her belly and chest, she rolled off of him and to the side, letting all of her limbs flop out on the expansive surface of her bed. That was _nice_.

What a rush. Reality was beginning to seep in but she was too tired to indulge natural panic and paranoia in that she had been complicit in a murder. He cleaned her up before she could think to ask but the nightgown didn't make a comeback. They were going to sleep naked together then. Lydia couldn't find the wherewithal to dissect further if this was a bad idea.

"You can walk with me to school tomorrow… I would _like_ it if you walked me to school tomorrow."

The distinction between those two statements was clear and important.

* * *

Pulling her in to spoon against his front, he curled around her warmth and humanity like the last fire at the end of a vacant world. His nose rubbed against the skin just behind her ear.

"I'd love nothin' more." His voice was heavy with coming sleep, her regular breaths and steady heartbeat soothing his soul in ways nothing had since he died.

"Ya' want me to stick around all day too?" Time would have to be set aside to deal with her blood-smeared clothes and the mess they left in the bathroom. Those were things that could wait until later. Right now, he was warm and comfortable, and she was here and safe.

He didn't completely fall asleep as he felt her drift off. The pull from Juno he knew would be coming sooner or later. Not that she would be able to summon him while he was in this house. She had to be livid. He had broken a major law, an unforgivable offense. He would do it again as many times as was needed if it meant his faery queen would never look like that ever again.

He would ask for some of Lydia's blood in the morning so he could make sure that as long as he stayed close, he could be bound to her. More bindings on his soul, more tension on an already wound tight leash… that didn't sit comfortably with him but at least he was the one _choosing_ to be bound this time. If he could convince her to marry him, it would wipe all the other bindings away. She would be his bond, his jailer, his haunt.

Honestly, that sounded just about like heaven to him


	9. Chapter 9

" _Ya' want me to stick around all day too?"_

"Mmmhm," she agreed on the verge of sleep, "All day, all the time. Stay with me always…"

Sleepiness made her tongue lose, endorphins sending her off into unconsciousness with a strong sense of attachment to the one that held her. Come morning, her alarm blaring jerked Lydia awake before her bedmate. All the candles were out but Lydia knew her bedroom like the back of her hand by now. No, something else was at fault to make her trip and knock her hip into the side of her vanity on the way to the bathroom.

Her balance was off. Her head pounded. Bracing herself against the wall, she slid to the floor, still entirely naked. It was cold and her temples throbbed. Her entire body ached, really. She thought she would feel better today after having slept in the arms of her lover but if anything she felt worse.

"Beej?" She panted, hoping it was loud enough to wake him if the items crashing to the ground from her vanity wasn't enough.

* * *

He felt her crawl over him on her way, he assumed, to the bathroom. Opening his eyes to stretch, he heard her bump into the vanity, something he had seen her glide past many times. She called his name, breathy and stilted, almost like she was in pain. He was kneeling next to her before she could breathe the last syllable, his hand braced on her shoulder. She was clammy and trembling.

"Sweetheart, what's wrong?"

Scooping her up, he stepped into the bathroom and set her on the shut lid of the toilet, brushing her hair back from her face with a cool hand.

"Ya' ain't lookin' too good, sweets."

He started to check her over again like he hadn't personally bathed her by hand the evening before and analyzed every last inch to make sure the would-be rapist hadn't caused any damage. When he finished and she looked fine, he felt something start to bubble in his chest.

Not many memories were left from his mortal years but be could remember the plague, how people would go from healthy to dropping dead in a day or two. Was this feeling panic? _Shit_. He needed to hold himself together. It wouldn't do to make the bathroom explode around her when she wasn't well.

* * *

"I don't feel good."

It came out wobbly and breathy. She _hated_ being sick. It knocked her off her equilibrium, made navigating that much more difficult. She held onto the counter with one hand and Betelgeuse's shoulder with the other, centering herself from these grounding points.

"It's really cold."

Her shivering was a testament to this, but he rectified this quickly with a blanket pulled around her shoulders from out of nowhere. Heat radiated from her skin while she complained of chills, giving him more to worry about.

"My head hurts. _Everything_ hurts. I'm tired. I want to go back to bed."

The girl's tone had taken on a frustrated quality like she was on the verge of tears. Too much had happened in too short of a period of time. Betelgeuse came back, only for her to lose him again, and then everything last night, only to wake up feeling like _this?_

"It's not fair…"

A single tear escaped, but she refused to cry more than that, hating how useless she felt.

* * *

"We'll go back to bed, babe." A cool hand was kept pressed to her face as he frantically tried to think out how he could help her. "Let's see what we can do t'make ya feel better before we lay back down."

This was a fucking mess. He didn't know how to help her. So many things had changed in the centuries between his death and now. He knew her modern medicine was better than the snake oil he died believing in but he also didn't know where to start. When he wiped away her little tear, she was suddenly dressed in a comfortable and warm set of pajamas. She sounded so miserable and pathetic, it made him want to destroy things that he couldn't figure out a way to make her feel better. It made him feel helpless, something he hadn't felt in a very long time.

"What do ya need, Sweetheart? What can I get ya' ta help?"

The mantra _this isn't the plague, she isn't going to die_ was chanting in his head on loop.

* * *

"Water," she croaked, and when a cool glass was pressed into her hands, she drank down eagerly. A little too quickly. It felt good on her throat but her stomach lurched at the introduction of too much after having so little for so long. After making a face and hugging herself tight, she managed to flip around and get the seat up, lose the several gulps of water she had just taken.

At the end of her heaving, she fell fully into tears again, begging, " _please_ help me back to bed." Which he did without further argument. School clearly wasn't happening today, and she was already feeling ingrained anxiety over having to miss it.

"I don't know what to do," she was panicking just as much as her poor babysitter, lost and miserable in the sudden illness that had taken her. Laying back in bed calmed the symptoms, but only for short bursts at a time.

"I don't want to go to the doctor," she moaned. "They'll keep me in some cold, bright room all day long running stupid tests because they'll think it's something to do with my albinism when really it's just something _normal_ and _stupid_."

Clearly, she was speaking from experience.

* * *

He watched her suck down the water and something clicked over in his head. When was the last time he saw her drink or eat anything? When she vomited last night, it hadn't smelled right… too acidic. On autopilot, he helped to get her tucked back into her bed among the pillows, before pressing another glass of water into her hand.

"Slowly this time, sweets." He listened to her panicky complaints about going to the doctor when something she said caught his attention, an alien-sounding term. "Wait, babe, what's that…? Al-bi-nis-m?"

His pronunciation was clunky. He watched her sip at the new glass, then clicked his tongue.

"When was the last time ya' ate anythin', Lyds?" His voice was soft and curious, "n' besides that water, when'd ya drink last?"

Dressed now in an ancient, dusty robe, he stretched out next to her making sure she drank slowly, his arm around her shoulders pulling her against him.

"Do ya need to talk to yer parents about not goin' to school?"

* * *

_"Wait, babe, what's that…? Al-bi-nis-m?"_

With a sigh that wasn't necessarily at his expense, Lydia repeated the symptoms of her condition, feeling very much like a lab rat as she did so. This was a speech she had given many times for doctors, teachers, friends of her parents, et cetera, et cetera.

"I have albinism. You might be familiar with the term 'albino'. It's a condition that blocks melanin production in my skin and causes ultra-light sensitivity and other vision problems b there isn't any melanin in my irises to reflect light."

Now that she was drinking it properly, the water was hitting her stomach and staying there.  
 _  
"When was the last time ya' ate anything Lyds?... when did you drink anything last?"_

As she thought about it and came to the answer, she turned sheepish.

"Before our fight. I think I had some coffee yesterday morning…" Saying it out loud, she knew it was unacceptable, but it was too late now. Her body was suffering the effects of neglect. "I didn't _mean_ to. I was just… I was really sad."  
 _  
"Do ya' need to talk to yer parents about not going to school?"_

She grimaced, set the water aside, and slunk down into the blankets against his refreshingly cool form. Her body kept switching back and forth between hot and cold.

"Probably, yeah…"

* * *

When she started to explain her condition, he pulled a lit cigarette out of the air and sat puffing on it while she talked. So she wasn't just blind. The reason she looked like a faery was that she had a condition. Was this also why she was so fragile? So small and delicate? He pushed his curiosity aside. There were more pressing things to see to. When she mentioned how long it had been since she had sustenance, he frowned down at her severely, giving her a little shake.

"I'm _dead_. I dun remember everythin' the livin' need to stay livin', doll." He cleared his throat, forcing smoke out his nostrils. "I'll do a better job o' rememberin' but ya gotta tell me when ya need things."

Moving to get up, now dressed in his usual striped affair, he regarded the gore in the bathroom.

"I gotta take care o' the mess we left yesterday n' blood is one o' those things I can't just make go away." Licking his lips, he flicked his cigarette away. "Ya should call one o' yer parents n' let 'em know yer sick, babe."

A kiss was pressed to her forehead before he was off to clean. _Him_. Cleaning.

* * *

"They won't be up for hours."

Not until around noon or so. This was part of the reason Lydia walked by herself to school, aside from crippling embarrassment from having to have her father escort her as a teenager.

"It's not your responsibility to make sure I eat. This is _my_ fault…"

It wasn't anyone's fault. Things were so fucked up lately.

"I'm just happy you're back."

She could feel his bouncing around, busy and chaotic, unsure of what to do as she breathed unevenly back toward sleep in the center of her comically large bed.

"It'll be okay, BJ. I'll sleep, and eat something, and I'll be just fine. Don't worry…"

* * *

He was angry again. There were a number of reasons, the first being _how he could forget the living needed to eat and drink?_ It was simple incompetence and there was no excuse for it. He hadn't been watching Lydia at all to make sure she was doing those things with any regularity‒ for fuck's sake, he had even noticed how she was looking thinner and hadn't thought anything of it.

The second focus of his ire were her parents. He'd had just about enough of their neglect. That they acted as coldly toward her as they did, as if she wasn't even around, was a constant source of vitriol for him. Though he would gladly dispose of them both, he was pretty sure Lydia wouldn't like that.

" _I'm just happy you're back."_

"I'm happy ta be back too, sweets."

He gave her a genuine smile then pressed a quick kiss to her lips. When she said she was going back to sleep and then planned on eating, he decided he had better get to the bathroom to clean up all the blood they left behind, make sure there wasn't any left except for the few ounces he used for sigils the night before. Those he covered with a simple glamour so no one would ever stumble upon them.

That was another rule he was breaking. He wasn't supposed to use those old magics anymore. Not that he cared, and it wouldn't matter at all if Lydia agreed‒ no. _When_ Lydia agreed to marry him.

* * *

Lydia awoke hours later not feeling much better. Betelgeuse was asleep beside her on top of the blankets, snoring loudly. She wasn't trapped in a prison of cuddles this time. Only one hand was kept on her, limp and gentle over her chest where her heart beat. He seemed tired, so she took pains not to wake him while slipping from the bed and very carefully and quietly exiting the room, the door whispering shut behind her.

It was bright out in the halls and on the ground floor, making her eyes ache on the way downstairs to where she could hear a commotion. She pulled the arm of her pajamas over the top half her face while carefully navigating toward the kitchen. Things had been moved since last she walked this floor, and her hip knocked into a serving table. There was a loud _crash_ as something big and made of glass‒ or was that ice?‒ fell to the ground and shattered.

_"LYDIA!"_ The intensity of Delia's shriek made her cringe and shrink back against the wall. "What are you even _doing here?!_ Why aren't you at school?! Look at what you've done! A _five-hundred-dollar ice sculpture! RUINED!"_

The girl was at a loss for words. Of course, it was an accident but Delia was on the warpath and Lydia simply didn't have the tools or capacity to keep up.

"I‒ I'm sorry‒"

Charles Deetz made an appearance from within his study, unable to focus on his work call with all this racket.

"What's going on?"

"That daughter of yours is trying to _ruin_ my dinner party, Charles! Look! _Just look!"_

"Calm down, darling, I'm sure it was an accident. Why aren't you in school, pumpkin?"

Relieved by her father's interference, Lydia found her voice.

"I'm sick."

"Oh, _wonderful_ ‒" Delia interjected once more, stomping around, and Lydia imagined her body language was quite dramatic. "We don't have _time for this_ , Charles! Who's supposed to take her to the Doctor? Need I remind you that the woman who writes for _Art in America_ will be arriving in one hour and she is expecting Mrs. AND Mr. Deetz to greet her at the door. No one that is dining in this house tonight has NOT been featured in _Vanity Faire‒_ except, of course, _Lydia._ "

Something in her stepmother had snapped and was not going to calm without a pill or two.

"If it's not gas leaks making us hallucinate our entire home attacking us, it's _something else! UGH! I can't DO this!"_

Her heavy footsteps were leading off, up the stairs and toward the master bedroom, as if Delia had decided to give up on her family and her dinner party altogether. Charles took the bait, taking off to follow her. Lydia, considering her obligation in informing her parents of her illness and missing school done, several beats later made a much slower and despondent trek up the very same set of stairs.

* * *

Betelgeuse felt as soon as her little heart wasn't beating under his palm anymore. He hadn't slept this much in who knows how long but he was able to get his bearings and his body moving quicker this time around. He was up and out against the stair rail the moment he heard a crash. Spotting Lydia below, he noted that she was fine but whatever she knocked over sure the fuck wasn't. That made him smile. A bit of chaos and destruction was overdue.

The way that fucking harpy was screeching at his girl, however, had him seething. Lydia was only doing as he asked earlier, talking to her parents and then she would go eat. Well aware that she didn't want it, he had no intention of stepping in to 'help' her.

Betelgeuse was just as hopeful as Lydia when Chuck brushed past him on his way to the women, only to be horribly disappointed in his gross disregard for his daughter. As Delia stormed up the stairs, he lit a cigarette, puffed, and glared. When Chuck rushed by as well, trying to soothe the bitch, he yanked the rug and caused a minor tumble. He wasn't sure who he was angrier at; the bitch or the spineless piece of shit.

When Lydia slowly followed behind the two of them, he caught her by the shoulders and pulled her into a loose hug.

"Seems like yer old man would rather make sure the harpy is happy than if you're healthy." He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "Did ya eat anythin' yet, babe?"

* * *

"Oh!"

He caught her at the top of the stairs, making her heart jump when he pulled her backward before she calmed and relaxed back into the embrace.

"No… No, I forgot."

The house felt hostile now. There were going to be strangers there. Delia never explicitly said so because she knew it wouldn't fly with her father but she didn't like Lydia to be out and about when there were guests. Betelgeuse's little comment dug that knife in deeper.

The prospect of making it downstairs _again_ , all the way to the kitchen, and putting a meal together amid all the bright, ugly chaos with her head pounding the way it was seemed like an impossible task. She didn't even really _want_ to eat, having gone so long without doing so now that her appetite was shot.

"Would you just help me back to bed, please? I'll figure out something to eat later." If Delia was cooking for a party, that meant the kitchen was likely a warzone. "This is too much..."

Her spirit seemed broken by her father's indifference. Maybe it had been broken for awhile or at least fractured.

* * *

"Ya go to bed now, yer gonna feel worse when ya wake up." He turned her to go back down the stairs taking care to put her hand on the rail so she'd not lose where she was.

"Let's go down. Ya can tell me what t'do fer ya but ya ain't goin' back ta bed without eatin'."

He was being pushy but she _needed_ to eat. He would have taken care of all of this earlier if he had any idea what he was doing but it had been centuries since he'd even gotten a hankering for food.

* * *

Nearing tears again but holding them back like a mature, responsible young lady, she allowed the poltergeist to guide her back downstairs, through the rearranged dining room, and into the kitchen. It sounded like one of Delia's abandoned pots was bubbling over.

"Uhm," she settled at the bar in an empty seat, keeping her hands to herself after placing them on the counter and finding a dirty knife and cutting board. "There should be some Ramen cups in the top cupboard over there. Is there an open burner on the stove? If not, I can just take some crackers?"

Her head was bowed the entire time, shielding her from the overhead light. It was clear she was uncomfortable asking for and accepting assistance like this.

* * *

Moving to the stove, he shut off all the burners before turning to frown down at her.

"The fuck is 'Ramen'? N' fuck no, ya gotta have more than crackers."

He stopped and tapped his long gritty fingernails on the counter in front of her in thought‒ only to growl and shake himself when he realized he could have just let her go back to her bed. She didn't have to be down here in this bright ugly room.

"What good are unimaginable comic powers if I can't even remember t'use 'em?"

What she needed was something hearty and filling but would be easy on her stomach. Betelgeuse tapped his finger on the counter top once more and a large bowl of chicken soup appeared in front of her. A spoon was placed in her hand.

"There ya go, babes. Eat up."

* * *

The scent of the soup in front of her instantly brought color to her cheeks. Roasted chicken in simmering stock with celery, carrots, and onion, fresh thyme and hints of ginger wafting on the fragrant steam.

"Mmm… _thank you_."

It was delicious but she could only stomach about a third of the bowl before her body started feeling heavy and full. Luckily, Delia chose to wait until then to make another appearance. She was calmer now, placated by her husband's diligent fawning, but still made a face at Lydia's presence in the kitchen, quickly shooing her out so she wouldn't "contaminate the dishes, get all of her guests sick, and _ruin_ her reputation."

Quite frankly, Lydia was too beat to even take it personally. With Betelegeuse's invisble assistance, she once more made the arduous trek upstairs, collapsing in bed once she got there.

"Thank you," she offered again, beyond grateful for his help. If he wasn't there, dealing with all of this on her own would have been much more difficult. Then again, if he wasn't there, she wouldn't have neglected herself to the point of sickness at all.

"You can put on a movie if you want. I'm going to fall asleep soon… the background noise is nice…"

* * *

He allowed Lydia a bit of a head start for the stairs before he spat in one of Delia's bubbling pots, a nice big hacking green loogie. Take that "contamination". Once they made it up to the bedroom and he had her snuggly in bed again, he stretched out next to her as he liked before snapping his fingers and starting whatever movie she'd last had on, making sure the volume was low.

"Yer welcome, baby girl." He thought she already looked like she was feeling better. "Rest up, n' I'll come up with somethin' fun fer us to do t'night."

He pulled her in to lay against him and ran his hand along her back in a soothing way. Something had to be done about her parents. Any permanent damage Lydia would tarnish his relationship with Lydia irreparably. He needed her to not be angry with him. He needed‒ no, _wanted_ her to say yes and marry him, and then he would have enough power to take her away from all this.

His consciousness drifted downstairs while his physical form stayed with her, and he listened to see if any of the dinner guests had started to arrive. Ruining the dinner party was always an option. He didn't have to hurt anyone, just scare them.

Imaginings of making the walls bleed and the food rot on the table made him giddy. It wouldn't take much. He probably wouldn't even have to leave Lydia's side to do it; Blowout all the lights, move the furniture. It was all effective newly-dead stuff. It shouldn't hurt anyone, but it would still put the Deetzes in a bad place.

* * *

Lydia slept, Betelgeuse plotted, guests began to arrive, and for the time being, the dinner party proceeded as planned. Charles and Delia Deetz cut attractive figures as a youngish, semi-successful couple bringing fashion and high art to the boonies. Their guests seemed charmed well enough, and the hostess thought everything was going well indeed.

Until suddenly it wasn't.

"‒ Wouldn't that be _something_."

"Come again, Dianne?" Delia let herself get distracted speaking with one of her less important guests and missed what the columnist for _Art in America_ was saying.

"If this house were haunted! It's got that _feel_ , you know? Separated off from the rest of town, up on top of a hill… All it's missing is that vintage airs. All this modern decor absolutely sabotages the gothic country charm a house like this demands. Too much _edge_. This is a house that _cuts_ when, really, it should be offering you a hug and a mug of tea."

It was like a knife was shoved and twisted deep in Delia's chest with each word. Grasping at straws, struggling to save face, she recalled what Lydia had tried to tell them all those months ago; _"This house is haunted. He stays in the attic. He's kind of cranky, so you should just leave him alone."_

That last part seemed unimportant. Haunted or not, this was _her_ house, and if she wanted to show off her haunted attic to her very important guests, she _would_ Goddamnit.

"... and what if I told you that it _was_ haunted?"

The party broke into giggles, all except Charles who leveled a dubious look at his wife. They both _suspected_ that _maybe_ Lydia was right, and something was very wrong with that house but until now Delia had been far more in denial about it than Charles. It was easier for him to just follow his wife's lead than go against it. For her to change her tune now was unsurprising but he feared what might happen to test the waters like this.

"Lydia told us all about it. You know Lydia? Charles' daughter from his late wife? She's… _blind_."

That was the common way of putting it to get their guests' attention. It worked. All eyes were on Delia.

"Charles and I believe that she has a third eye open to… _other_ planes of reality."

Otho and another guest present at the party were aware of Lydia's existence but the rest who were not were suddenly fascinated and demanding to know where she was, why she didn't have a seat at the table. Questions, questions, questions, all of them about Lydia. Delia needed to bring it back to _her_.

"Poor thing is in bed with the sniffles right now but if we're _extra quiet_ , we can sneak past her room up to the attic and go check out the haunt. She can be a little _sensitive_ about people going up there."

* * *

That _fucking_ woman's voice. It was enough to make him want to hang himself again. It's not like that wasn't an option if he really wanted to.

He could hear a number of people climbing the stairs. The way they were moving he could tell they were trying to be quiet and sneaky. It wasn't working. Carefully, he moved Lydia off of him and tucked her in to make sure she stayed cozy. Wouldn't do to have her waking up to an empty bed.

He phased the door to find the landing at the top of the stairs full of people. Delia was talking a mile a minute and it was giving him a fucking headache. Chuck lurked towards the back of the party. The Fatso from when the Deetzes first moved in was there too. There were new faces. One of them, he assumed, being the lady from the magazine Delia had screamed at Lydia about earlier in the day.

The group headed for the attic. He really didn't like that. That was _his_ space and he didn't want to share it unless it was with Lydia. Since she didn't fully belong to him quite yet, even that was pushing his hospitality if he was being honest with himself, and he wasn't. He held back, giving them some space but he dropped the temperature between them and attic, making the lighting flicker. That got some excited squeals. He didn't smell any real fear, which was disappointing, but he would get his.

Disappearing and reappearing in the attic he made sure to leave the door open. He could feel them coming, their anticipation. His monster side was slipping out, excited by all this prey gathered in one area. It should be fine. Lydia was safe, tucked away in her bed. He could scare these shitheads and be back to her before she ever knew he was gone. The sensation of his fangs lengthening and his sight going hazy red had him cackling as the door creaked open.

* * *

One by one, the party of eight tip-toed up one flight of stairs and then another, tipsy and giggling and doing a shit job of "sneaking" past the sleeping sick girl's room. Nevertheless, Lydia slept on, speaking to how very worn out she was. A draft swept through the narrow staircase leading up to the attic, making several guests gasp and titter.

_"Did you feel that?"_

_"It's a hoax, they planned this all ahead of time."_

"We most assuredly _did not_ ," Delia spoke up firmly, irate at the insinuation. "You wouldn't _believe_ what we've put up with in this house. Broken windows, power shortages, rearranged furniture, exploding lightbulbs, slamming doors and cabinets, _everything!_ You name it, we've seen it!"

It wasn't the fact that Lydia saw ghosts and was vocal about it that irked Delia. It was that this peculiar gift made Lydia _special_. The ghost _liked_ Lydia, clearly, or else it would have destroyed her things and terrorized her as well. It was easier to ignore the girl and pretend this wasn't all happening than embrace the paranormal. Now that Delia could capitalize on the girl's particular talents, she would.

Whether or not she was self-aware was debatable. Charles was of a different mind altogether.

He wanted his baby girl to be healthy and normal and she was everything but. He would know how to raise a healthy, normal daughter… probably. Who was he kidding? The only decent parent Lydia ever had died a long time ago, and it was all his fault. He couldn't even begin to make that up to Lydia, and Delia sapped up too much of his energy to begin trying. For Charles, it was easier to dissociate.

Tonight was a challenge for both of them. No ignoring Lydia's gifts tonight. No ignoring his wife's hypocritical double-standards as she continued to name drop the same daughter she had forbidden a seat at that table. Chuck was _furious_ but it would wait until their guests had left. He would have his words then.

Mozart's Last Requiem began to play before the first person in their group could step foot in the room, freezing the crowd. Like a charm, it drew them in, just as it had drawn Lydia. Unlike Lydia, when the door slammed shut, everyone in the crowd jumped. The lock clicked.

"Okay, everyone," Dianne from _Art in America_ giggled nervously, "I think that's enough."

"I agree," Charles Deetz spoke up firmly, earning a look from his wife.

"Not yet!" Delia urged, standing in front of the door to block it. _As if any of them could get the lock opened if they tried._ "Wait! He'll do something, I _promise!_ You all wanted to see a ghost, right? You're standing in the most haunted house in Connecticut!"


	10. Chapter 10

That stupid cunt. Oh, did he have _plans_ for the fucking harpy... but it would have to wait after he spooked the rest of these fucks out of the house. Delia was asking for a big show and he refused to deliver. Not yet. Fuck that, he could get scares easy out of a bunch of drunk New Yorkers.

" _You're standing in the most haunted house in Connecticut!"_

Hoo-boy, this bitch was really asking for it, though. She was locked in the attic with the Ghost with the Most and she would get her wish but first, he had to get rid of the hangers-on.

The room was kept dark and cold as he used the cover of shadow for subterfuge. All of their flesh began to crawl in simultaneous as bugs scuddled up out of their clothing, phantom touches caressing them. Foul odors filled the space, and a group of the boxes in the corner catapulted across to the other side.

He got a few screams, mostly from cheap jump scares and banging shit around rather than true terror. He could just barely taste the first hints of it. It was the cheap fear, but it was fear and it sustained. The walls began to leak blood, quickly pooling on the floor and edging closer to the dinner party. There was a struggle for the door handle but no matter how hard they tried it wouldn't budge.

The room shook around them as his shadow form solidified and stepped into view before them, eyes glowing eerily.

" _Get out!_ " He boomed, and the door sprang open.

* * *

In a flurry of blood-curdling screams and curses aimed at the Deetzes, the dinner party guests fled the scene, scarcely stopping long enough to grab their purses and jackets before hopping into their sports cars, narrowly avoiding crashing into the river on their way downhill. Only Otho and the Deetzes remained.

Still, Lydia slept.

It was not that the Deetzes weren't frightened by the show. It was that they knew it wasn't meant for them. They didn't smell the foul odors the guests commented on, didn't feel bugs crawling over their skin the way the other city-slickers did, squirming and dancing in their overpriced suits and dresses. Every other vision and illusion they were privy to, but these were small-time compared to what this ghoul had put the Deetzes through.

Nevertheless, it was enough. More than enough. Delia got exactly what she asked for and it was her own undoing. Her agent was never going to try and get her booked again, she was never going to appear in _Art in America_ or get a piece in the _Times_. She was devastated.

Charles, on the other hand, was burning up for a completely different reason.

"You've got to be _fucking with me_ , Delia."

She turned on him aghast, cherry lips parted in shock that he would speak to her that way. They were in the foyer, watching their guests flee in terror.

"You spent _forty-five goddamn minutes_ crying to me about how Lydia was trying to ruin your party, and _as soon as it's convenient for you_ , you want to _use her_ to impress your _shitty_ guests?"

Either Charles had had one too many, or Delia had crossed too far over the line, or a healthy combination of the two but he was letting her have it and wasn't letting up.

"You've been saying you think she's behind the shit that happened when we first moved in for _months_ now! _Now_ you want to believe her? Get us _fucking killed!_ I‒ I need a fucking break."

"Charles‒"

Her husband had _never_ spoken to her like this. Delia knew it was a little wrong of her to fib like that, to string their guests along, but hadn't thought Charles‒ or the "ghost"‒ would react so poorly. It wasn't like Delia to consider the consequences. Desperate to fix things, she followed after him as he stormed up toward his study.

Otho was just playing the third wheel to it all, happy to exist amid the drama.

"Wait! _Wait!_ Talk to me! You don't understand‒"

Her steps slowed. The banister felt wrong… _scaly._

* * *

Betelgeuse had followed them down the stairs grinning, a cigarette clenched in his teeth. It was chaos, maybe not as much fear as he would have liked but still gratifying… now for the main attraction.

Charles was headed back up the stairs, Delia close behind calling after him when she froze mid-step to look down at the newly minted banister. He let his heavy coils fall from where the banister had originally been mounted. There was that stale dry quality to the air that reminded one of a snake cage, the horrid dry scraping sound of scales along the carpet. From near the attic doorway, a large snake-like head bearing his face slithered towards them, huge luminous snake eyes and long venom dripping teeth crawling closer to the Deetzes. He snapped his jaws at Charles, his long forked tongue tasting the air and a nasty dry cackle crawling out of that vast cavern of a mouth.

"I'm here fer yer daughter, Chuck."

Thick coils looped around Charles, dangling him by the ankle over his own gaping maw. Another large coil knocked Delia and Otho to the ground, both crying out in fear and pain. There was so much energy that he wasn't actively trying to control, it made the lights flicker

He had Charles inches from his fangs, forked tongue reaching out to caress the man's face.

* * *

Lydia was trying very hard to keep sleeping, but there was so much going on outside her bedroom, and her hearing was so sensitive‒ even with the volume on the television turned up as loud as it was. There was screaming and crashing coming from upstairs... _the attic_. By the time she had shaken the sleep off long enough to stand up out of bed, her father was yelling at Delia. Rather than interrupt _that_ once-in-a-lifetime spectacle, she hesitated behind the door and listened.

…

_Delia did_ _**what?** _

The girl barely had any time to speculate as to what they were even talking about before they were screaming again. _What was going on?_ It couldn't have been Betelgeuse. He was still in bed, wasn't he?

"Beej…?"

The air in her bedroom remained silent, all but their muted screams, and her gut flipped. It was him out there terrorizing everyone. And she was _letting_ him. She had unleashed him.

_"I'm here for your daughter, Chuck."_

A sickly screeching cackle filled the air. Lydia burst from her bedroom in an instant, just as furious with the poltergeist as her father had been with her stepmother moments ago. She stepped confidently toward the sound, ready to give him a piece of her mind, completely ignorant as to the form he had taken, only to stumble backward right over the trunk of his tail. If someone didn't act fast, she was going to snap her neck right on the staircase.

* * *

It was more of a niggling sensation than anything else. He felt her trip and, panicking, tossed Charles over the ledge. Reaching out with a coil, he caught her delicately around the middle and cradled her in against his large scaly form. The lights were killed, plunging the whole house into darkness.

Charles was groaning from the floor below, so he wasn't dead. What a disappointment. Flicking his tail like a whip sent Delia and Otho down the to the bottom floor as well as made the stairs quake and shuffle them down painfully. His long forked tongue flicked over her skin, telling him she was uninjured.

He had let her wake up to an empty bed. Her parents had taken up too much of his time this evening. He was seeing red again‒ _they needed to pay_. But first Lydia needed to be seen too.

"Babesssssss," it was a long low raspy hiss, "ya' all right?"

He pulled her in close and let her small form slide to the floor.

* * *

Never having been held by a giant snake before, it took Lydia several long beats of breathless shock to gather that this was the form her beloved had chosen to terrify her parents and their guests. Scales upon scales coating gargantuan tubes of muscle, wrapped lovingly around her, squeezing in a tender way that made her feel like she was being hugged from thigh to breast.

Lydia liked snakes.

The agonized screams coming from her father, Otho, and Delia snapped her out of it. This… this _poltergeist_ may have adored and protected her‒ _loved_ her even, she dared to think bravely‒ but he hurt people. Planned on hurting _more_ people. He didn't even feel bad about it. It was selfish of her to keep him around like this, to desire him the way she did‒ and _Oh God, did she want him_.

Obscenely so, feeling him around her like this only made her want him more.

"Betelgeuse…" She whispered, hurt and disappointment echoing through her tone.

"Betelgeuse…" This one was louder, her pain for him audible, seeping into her expression now as she sought out the luminous orbs that made up his gaze in the dark.

"Betelgeuse." His frustrated cry was cut off into nothing as he and his aura disappeared completely as if he had never been there at all.

* * *

The pain of her calling his name was worse in this form. Or was it just worse at this point because it was _her_ that was putting him away?When she said it the second time he almost crushed her as his large form convulsed. His irritation with her parents disappeared as panic started to claw at him.

"Lydia, sweetheart, please‒!"

She said it a third time, snapping him back into his twilight existence, unseen and unheard. He couldn't even find it in himself to be mad at her. Sure, he was livid to be sealed away again but he was mad that he wasn't there when she awoke, and that it was his fault she almost fell. Mostly, he was furious he didn't get to finish dealing with her parents his way.

He didn't dare to manipulate the lights for fear of her getting disorientated this close to the stairs but he did make the paint on the walls start to peel and the house shake.

"For fuck's sake, Lyds, don't do this!" He was making enough racket to wake the dead without actually damaging anything. His touch ghosted over her, a whisper of what it could be.

"Call me back, babes, pleeeeaaase call me back. Don't leave me like this!"

* * *

It hurt Lydia in equal parts emotionally to banish him as it hurt him physically. With a broken sob, she threw herself away from her family, away from all of them, and back to the dark solitude of her bedroom‒ still reeking of his cigarettes.

"Just leave me alone, all of you!"

She catapulted into her bed, pulling the comforter up over her head and stuffing pillows over her ears, hoping in vain to just block it all out. Otho was crying. Her father was making horrible hurt sounds. Delia was hysterical over both of them. Even through the pillow, she could hear her own name uttered on the occasion and couldn't bear to listen fully to whatever they were saying about her.

She was responsible for this. She did this. Betelgeuse's energy was moving all over her, making her squirm and sob.

"You _hurt_ them," she lashed back in an explanation she shouldn't have to give. He couldn't honestly expect her to just let him go around hurting people, could he? He couldn't.

* * *

"I could'a killed them babes, but I didnt!" He'd stopped tormenting the rest of the house.

"Chuck ain't even really hurt, a few bruises at best. The harpy is fine, upset but fine. Fatso didn't even get a scratch goin' down the stairs." He was floating mid-air not far from the edge of her bed, arms crossed, cigarette clenched in his teeth.

"It fuckin' hurts when you send me away," he rubbed at his chest absently, "they carved the spell that binds me into my fucking bones, n' every time someone calls me I can feel my ribs breaking. The dead ain't supposed to feel pain."

"How could'ya do this, sweets? How could'ya send me away like this? For them breathers that don't love ya? Not like I...do. Fuuuuck."

He scrubbed his face with his hands. It was no use. She couldn't heard him and he couldn't get her attention, she was too upset. He didn't know how to fix it. The worst part? He _wanted_ to fix it. That horrible churning in his gut had started again. He had to get her to let him out enough to talk. Enough to let her know hadn't done any permanent damage, even to the house. Trailing his fingers in her hair, he pressed another kiss to the top of her head.

* * *

A flood of anguish pooled around her; some of it his, some of it her own, their tortured energies melding in joint despair. She could feel him all around her, the ghost of his touch reaching through the blankets to pet her hair, caress down her back, soothe her sobbing.

"I _can't_ ," she begged him to understand. How could she let him back out knowing what he was capable of? _They were murderers._ What if Delia was just a little too bitchy to her one day? What if her father was drunk and said something hurtful and careless? Would Betelgeuse haul off and rip them apart the way he did Mr. Howard?

"I'm so so _sorry, Beej_ ," she was hyperventilating into her pillow, barely able to catch a breath. It didn't appear to Lydia as though there were any solutions that made everyone happy. "Don't you understand? What am I supposed to do?!"

He must have known how lonely she was, how much she adored him and wanted to keep him all to herself. The ghoul with his penchant for violence had not given her much of a choice here. To say his name again would be to give him freedom to whisper in her ear, talk her into letting him lose _again‒_ something that could not be allowed to happen. Lydia could only handle so much blood on her hands.

* * *

Betelgeuse wasn't sure how exactly long Lydia had been keeping him locked away in the twilight of reality but knew it had to have been more than a day or two. Time really didn't work the same for the dead as the living. After the first evening, when he didn't leave her side, listening to her cry until she fell into a fitful sleep he couldn't do anything about, he considered evading her dreams but thought better of it.

He spent an entire afternoon going through Charles's office for dirt, anything to turn Lydia against them. He found several points of interest, one of which being a number escort calling cards. Those were promptly left in Delia's studio. Every evening, he made sure he was there when Lydia went to bed and stayed until she woke up. After the first few nights, though, he stopped trying to touch her. It caused them both far too much distress.

She didn't leave for school, but he'd also murdered her teacher so who knew what they were going to do about that? He was just glad she wasn't walking alone anymore. One afternoon, when he overheard Delia and Charles talking about sending Lydia away he moved quickly to Lydia's room and played their conversation over the radio for her.

She had to see that they didn't love her, were intent on throwing her away‒ but he could stop it. All she had to do was agree to marry him.

* * *

The Deetz house was tenser following than snake incident than it had ever been in Lydia's memory. They weren't speaking to her. Unlike before where it seemed more like an accident, where they had the benefit of the doubt that maybe they just didn't hear her, it was clear to Lydia that they were actively ignoring her‒ as if _afraid_ of her. As if it was she personally that attacked them all, threw them down the stairs.

She may as well have.

School was out of the question for the foreseeable future. With Mr. Howard's "mysterious disappearance", Miss Shannon's was unable to accommodate her and forced to refund her father's tuition money. The public school was similarly unequipped to take her on, leaving Lydia's education up in the air for the time being.

One day, Lydia was reading in her bedroom, trying to pretend she didn't miss Betelgeuse so much she felt it in her bones when a conversation she wasn't meant to be privy to began to play over her radio.

_"... Not again, Delia."_

_"But Charles!"_

_"I won't! She's not going anywhere like that!"_

_"But we_ _**can't** _ _take care of her, Charles. She'll be_ _**happier** _ _with other people like her. They know how to handle cases like hers. We don't."_

_"Evie knew how to take care of her."_

There was a lengthy pause. Lydia held her breath, her very fate hanging on the balance of this conversation. Such a bold name-drop by her father knocked the breath out of her, same as it did Delia.

_"That was low, Charles. It's your fault_ _**just as much** _ _as it is mine."_

Lydia's heart beat faster. What were they talking about? What was their fault? She scrambled across the room, holding the stereo close to her ear so as to not miss a single word.

_"I know…"_ Her father continued, sounding defeated. Delia's voice softened.

_"We can't change the past, Charles. We made our bed, and now we've got to lie in it… but maybe it's time we accept the facts of the case. The Hemlock Institute is state of the art, just look at these brochures! She would be living better than us…"  
_  
The conversation faded away, marking either its end or that Betelgeuse was unwilling to let her listen further. She couldn't have heard them properly. There must have been some sort of mistake. They were going to send her away? Why did they think mother's death was their fault? Lydia was so hurt and confused, she wasn't thinking when her lips formed the syllables.

"Betelgeuse…"

* * *

"Yeah, babes," his voice soft, as he let his hand fall from where he had it pressed to the radio. Tricks like that took more energy than he wanted to admit but it was easier than trying to get Lydia in a position to overhear them. Safer for her, too, to hear it well away from them. She _needed_ to hear it.

"Sounds like they wanna get rid of ya," he cleared his throat and leaned in until he was so close his lips touched her when he spoke, "send ya' far, far away from me. I dunno 'bout you, sweet cheeks, but I dun like that idea."

He thought Charles would have learned his lesson when he got tossed over the banister to the bottom floor. Apparently not. It wasn't just about being sent away thing though, was it? Not for Lydia. She didn't get startled and move for the radio until they mentioned…

"Sweetheart, who's Evie?" The look on Lydia's face spoke volumes. "What happened to her, sweets?"

* * *

Lydia had gone very numb. Silent and motionless, her mind was still struggling to process everything she had just heard. She still wasn't over the ghost crowding her space, the one she had promised herself she would never indulge again. It was too dangerous, too selfish to let herself keep him.

But Lydia was human, and weak, and _alone_. She didn't want to be sent off far away either.

"Evie is… my _Mom_." Her voice cracked. "She died‒"

Abruptly, a head of silver-blonde hair shook, the girl clasping both hands over her ears as if she was suddenly hearing far too much.

"She _killed herself._ "

And, apparently, it was Delia and her Father's fault. _Why did they think it was their fault?_ Lydia was very young when she lost her Mother. It was a traumatic experience, more so than the average individual who had their mother prematurely stolen from them.

"Sleeping pills. I was six. She was supposed to be watching me that day. _I slipped into bed next to her because I didn't know what was wrong_. She wouldn't wake up. No one came . Not until it was dark and then bright again."

The way she recited it, it was is if she was still there, small and cuddling her mother's corpse and waiting for someone, anyone to come home. She shook now, but didn't cry, nails digging into her palms hard enough to break skin.

"I was so _little…_ I didn't think anything of it when Delia moved in so fast… _Why do they think it's their fault, Beej?"_

* * *

A nasty grin spread across his features. Well, well, well, this explained why she could sense ghosts. A whole fucking day snuggled up with a corpse, when she was _that_ young? It was a wonder she wasn't catatonic. Chuck and the harpy obviously had something to do with her killing herself… Betelgeuse sighed, shaking his head. _A fuckin' suicide_. She left her daughter for those goddamn cubicles. Bet she regretted that choice, but then didn't they all…?

The first hint of blood hit his dampened senses and he reached out to stop her from doing her hands any more damage. Pulling her in against his chest, he rocked her slightly.

"Hey. Don't do that. Yer hurtin' yerself," he pressed a kiss to her temple, "Chuck was probably fuckin' that harpy on the side. Doesn't seem to be a one-woman man, ole Chuck. I think he's fuckin' around on that red-headed bitch now."

He ran his fingers through her hair to massage her scalp, pressing her head to his chest.

* * *

Lydia was always an easy target. Especially meak, especially vulnerable. She was the runt of the litter, the underdog. Betelgeuse didn't have to do any real work isolating her from friends and family to get her to come to him‒ they cast her out on their own. She was bleeding open in his palms now, prime for whatever he had planned for her.

She wanted to murder. She wanted to die. She wanted to _cry_. All her tears had been used up over the past several days waiting for her feelings for this monster to disappear. Love didn't work that way, apparently.

At that first touch, she was his again, but she didn't come easy. She was rigid and shaking, fists digging into her comforter instead when he directed her away from self-harm.

_They killed her_.

The thought echoed on repeat at the base of her skull where fury blossomed, Betelgeuse's nefarious whispering adding fuel to the ticking time bomb she was turning out to be. He was being so sweet, so soft, but Lydia wasn't surrendering to his tranquil, contented aura, the flames of her own practically burning down the room while his hummed and glowed with contentment

She wasn't sitting there in that room with him. No, she was gone elsewhere at the moment, back years ago, holding a different corpse cold to her cheek and _so fucking angry_. _Why wasn't Daddy home yet? Why wouldn't Mommy wake up? Couldn't anyone hear her screaming and crying for help? If only she could_ _ **see.**_

* * *

Holding the girl closer still and rocking her softly, he could feel the anger and pain flowing off of her. Slowly stroking her hair, he leaned down to see her face.

"We can make 'em pay. Yer Mama, she didn't deserve what they did. _You_ don't deserve t'be treated like ya are by 'em."

Cupping her face, he kissed the tip of her nose.

"We don't even gotta hurt 'em. I could jus'... take ya away. We could go anywhere, do anythin' ya wanna." He was talking low and soothing.

"Could always turn back inta a snake n' _eat 'em_ ," he chuckled darkly, trying to play it off like a joke. He wasn't capable of healing her wounds, mental or physical, so he didn't try. "Whaddaya say, sweetheart?"

* * *

If he were an ordinary man, perhaps she could scream and cry about how she wanted them dead, too. How he was _right_ , and they deserved to pay their pound of flesh.

But he wasn't an ordinary man. If Lydia gave into vocalizing those ugly desires, _he would deliver_.

" _I could just take ya' away. We could go anywhere do anything ya wanna."_

Did he really have that kind of power? For a moment, Lydia was taken out of her seemingly bottomless pit of angst, pulling back from his arms to level him with a vaguely curious expression.

"What do you mean?"

He couldn't mean _anywhere-_ anywhere, could he? They were both trapped here in this house with _those people_. It's what drew them together, their greatest commonality. He could _leave?_ Lydia had never, _ever_ heard of a ghost… _leaving_ their haunt. Her mind was blown past all the other shocks it had endured within the past several minutes after overhearing the _murderers_ and their great betrayal of her beloved Mother.

"We can't leave."

* * *

"Sure we can," he ran his hands up and down her sides, "well not right now. I'm sealed away. But ya say my name n' babes, I'll take ya anywhere ya wanna go‒ _AND_ if you ever decide ya _do_ wanna get hitched, I'll be able to do anythin' ya' want me to."

Conjuring a cigarette, he let his hands slide down her body and he settled them a little further into the bed.

"I've gathered lots o' power in my time." Usually at the cost of selling off bits of his soul and humanity, not that he missed those parts now. "I can even look like I'm alive so we could play tourists, go on a fun vacation that we never have to come back from."

Sure, if she let him out again, he would be able to do whatever but the majority of his power would still be locked away behind the name binding. With a marriage to a willing partner, that curse would be broken. It would bind him to her… but really it couldn't be that bad, having her eternally with him.

He kissed her cheek and snuggled against her neck at the fuzzy thought. Just being able to take her and leave would be _wonderful_. He was irritated that the last time he got outside he didn't get to enjoy it. It was raining and he had work to do. Giving her another squeeze, he sighed.

"We can leave if ya' wanna…" he cringed internally, "... but I ain't gonna force ya ta say my name."

* * *

There was an escape, after all. Lydia was already in the midst of planning either a murder or a suicide. Blood would be spilt before she let them lock her up in one of those places. Just because she couldn't see that great didn't mean she was _crazy_.

"Take me…" she began without even thinking, trailing off without a concrete destination in mind or even saying his name. It was her gut response, the first thought that reached her lips unfiltered.

"Betelgeuse," she corrected herself, a flush pinking her cheeks at her choice verbiage.

That was two. His arms tightened around her, and her fingers softened over where his heart would beat. This hurt him. To balm the pain, she brushed a kiss forward, letting it land where it would‒ his Adam's apple.

"Betelgeuse."

Third time's the charm. That humming aura of his expanded beyond her scope, so large it swallowed the house and surrounding area. The intensity of all that power unleashing so near her sent her neck snapping back, lashes fluttering with a gust of wind. The last time she set him free was by accident. This was with intent. Names _did_ have power. He was free. He could do _anything_. In an instant, a flash of bright red colored her memory bank along with a symphony of screams, and Lydia remembered why she hesitated to free him, but it was too late.

He was out and ready to play.

These were her first thoughts. The second was that _he was here_ and _she missed him so much_. Her arms went around his somehow more solid neck, his wiry hair scratching her cheek as she embraced him bodily.

"Hey there, stranger…"

It felt so good to be selfish.

* * *

She said his name. She said it three times _with intent_. It still hurt but sitting there with her made it feel like less, less like a rope snapping and more of an untying. Her hot mouth was on his skin, her warm little arms around his neck. He was as close to Heaven as he would ever get. With the intent of her incantation he could feel more power coursing through and around him than with her previous summons. He was wholly her creature for the time being and oddly for once he didn't mind belonging to someone else.

" _Hey there, stranger…"_

"Hey, Baby girl," he pressed a heavy kiss to her lips, hands running along her back, one moving down towards her ass the other up to press her closer to him, "feels good to be back, love."

His senses were working better than before, too. Colors were brighter and she was glowingly beautiful to his new eyes. The heat from her body thawed some of the coolness from his skin. His lower hand kneaded at her curves.

"Feels so very, very good to be back," there was a lazy drunken quality to his voice, "thank you, fer lettin'me out," he nipped her lower lip softly.

* * *

For a precious few moments, they were the only two people in the world. All Lydia cared for was to stay wrapped up in his arms like this belonging to him forever and ever, and he appeared to be in a similar boat. Past and future troubles were insignificant and unworthy of their attention when this perfect togetherness existed.

Beaming, happy just to be with him again, Lydia pulled back from their languid, slow making out to put a few inches between their faces and actually communicate.

"We should just _disappear_ and spend the whole day together. Let them think I've gone missing. They can call the police and get in trouble for filing a false report again."

* * *

His movements were calm and relaxed, not his normal jerky intensity. When she leaned back to speak, he moved from her lips to the graceful column of her throat, pressing cool kisses along her skin as she spoke and plotted.

_"We should just disappear…"_

Now that was an idea. He could take her away, wherever she wanted to go. They could just disappear and never come back.

"Where'd ya have in mind?" His lips were still pressed to her sweet skin, hands slowly stroking. Part of the reason that he hadn't just stolen her away after the attempted rape was the insurance of the blood sigils he put on the house to keep Juno at bay but the home was no longer a sanctuary for Lydia and therefore couldn't be one for him either.

"We can go anywhere ya like love," he kissed his lips soft again speaking against her, "but first I'ma need some blood."

* * *

_Blood._

Lydia froze while he continued kissing her, undisturbed by his own suggestion. It made sense, she supposed but maybe it wasn't the brightest idea to participate in blood magic with the ancient, dark creature taking up her bed. Once more, a voice of trepidation spoke up at the back of her skull, warning of danger, and once more, naive Lydia didn't pay it half the attention she should have.

"What for?"

The kisses moving down her neck toward the collar of her nightgown almost distracted her from continuing this line of questioning. They were so soft, so sweet and savoring of her flesh.

"Do you need a _lot?_ " He was excellent at seducing her. She was already on her back, long skirt flirting around her knees while he continued pawing at her.

"I think… I want to go to an Opera. I've never been to a real Opera house before." Moss from his cheek tickled the baby hairs on her neck and she giggled, arching away from him. "You could be _the phantom_ of the opera. Get it?"

* * *

_"What for? Do you need a lot?"_

He was kissing his way south along her body. This was so much better than before, being let out with intent was vastly superior than accidentally or under duress.

"A spell, so no one can pull me away from you," _and so no one can take you from me either_. He paused in his kissing and looked up the line of her body, a thoughtful quality to his voice. "Not much… a small cut."

Deciding she was too clothed, he made her nightgown disappear before running his tongue over one of her pretty pink breasts, a hand moving down to cup her core.

"I'll be the phantom of whatever you want me to be, babes," he bit softly at her flesh.

* * *

She _meeped_ when she was suddenly naked, startling beneath him, but that sharp breath was quickly manipulated into a heated whimper with a crook of his clawed index finger sliding between her labia, caressing her wet clit. Creamy thighs trembled around his invading hand, her own finding purchase on his shoulders.

"I suppose…" she breathed, simultaneously arching into and away from his sinful touch, enticed and oversensitized to it all at once. "If it's just a _small_ cut… I don't see the harm…"

Lydia was bumping and tripping and cutting and losing little bits of blood by accident all the time. What difference was a few drops freely given?


	11. Chapter 11

Letting out a happy sigh at her agreement, something clicked into place in his chest. The deal was struck, blood freely offered.

He leaned up to kiss her, touching her almost lazily, he started moving over her body. Soft kind kisses, gentle touches. His tongue darted out to taste her skin, her warmth like a drug. He could smell her, her arousal drawing him down to replace his hand with his face, fingers with tongue.

If the last time it seemed like he was trying to eat her, this time was like a long languid kiss. He kneaded her curves as well as supported her against his mouth, a long snake-like tongue caressing her warmth. Relishing every last drop of his drug of choice, he realised he was drunk on her; her heat, the taste of her, her scent. He would promise her the world but right now, she _was_ his whole world. This felt so good, so right, and she was the one who let him out.

* * *

Lydia didn't know it could be like _this_. The servings of pleasure he had dished up thus far were nothing like _this_. When he touched her intimately, there was usually something mean to it. A bite here, a harsh suckle there, pinches and squeezes and rough groping that brought pink and purple hues to her snowy flesh. She had come to accept and appreciate it as part of the process.

It wasn't that she disliked the little stings and how they contrasted melodically with waves of euphoria… but what he was doing to her now was from another realm. This was pure and gentle, _divine_. Gracefully, with a talent crafted through the centuries, he eased her into one, two, _three_ orgasms, each of which had her _inflicting pain upon herself_.

She pulled her hair, ground her ass down into his massaging claws to encourage him to squeeze harder. The last climax he wrought had her biting hard into the palm of her hand to quiet the explosive cry that wanted out.

It wouldn't do to get caught. That was not the kind of revenge she wanted to deal out to her father and that woman.

* * *

He helped to pull her through her third orgasm before pillowing his head on her thigh, laying there a moment to just savor her. She was in a new state of glorious ruin. After collecting his thoughts, he crawled along her body to nuzzle and nip at her neck softly, hands still exploring exposed flesh.

"So the opera huh? Where at sweetheart? London? Paris? Sydney?" He settled alongside her, her body pressed in a line to his, fingertips dancing along her skin. With a sigh he propped himself up on one arm to look down at her and brushed a sweet kiss along her lips.

"Though, I s'pose before that we should do the spell…"

The palm trailing along her curves suddenly held a small silver blade that was not there before.

* * *

"Paris," she sighed blissfully, still caught in a post orgasmic haze while he traced her silhouette. Her pronunciation was proper, with a silent "s" and long "e". French was Lydia's elective language, and with her better than average hearing and superior auditory memory, she took to it with the ease of a natural born European.

"I've always wanted to visit France. The language is so beautiful... _Mieux vaut tard que jamais_."

Lydia remembered distinctly visiting the New York Philharmonic Symphony with her Mother when she was little and had been blown away, even at that young age, by the complex, heart-stoppingly beautiful sounds the instruments were able to create when working in harmony with one another. The opera must have been similarly marvelous, she hypothesized, having only her records and CD's as a frame of reference.

"But… I don't have any money, Beej."

The music was already beginning to fade in her mind while a frown crept over her face.

"We don't have anywhere to stay out there… I don't even know where they keep my I.D. or birth certificate, or any of the important stuff."

Maybe running away wasn't such a good idea after all. She felt cool metal tracing her skin, remembered her acquiescence to giving him blood, and suddenly it seemed like an even worse idea.

"What if someone calls your name and I'm just… _stuck?_ Without you? I don't know anymore, Beej…"

* * *

" _But… I don't have any money, Beej."_

As he pressed the handle of the knife into her palm, a thick wad of bills was conjured with a cock of his eyebrow from elsewhere in the world and pressed into her other hand.

"Ya don't _need_ ta have any," he ghosted a kiss along her cheekbone, "I got more'n enough to take care o' ya."

He rolled to his back and pulled her on top of him, helping her to straddle his stomach. She looked very much the wild faery queen today, her starlight hair mussed and skin dusted pink from their activities.

"Paris sounds great, ma petite…" the french dripped from his tongue, "don't worry 'bout yer papers. I can find 'em a'fore we leave."

He already had a fairly good idea where Chuck had them stashed in his study, and it wasn't like he couldn't just produce new identification and paperwork if necessary. It was something he had done in life that he only got better at it in death.

"Paris' got a real nice nightlife, not just the opera," he loosened his tie as he was speaking and was quickly unbuttoning his shirt, "ya got anywhere else in Paris ya wanna go?"

Once his shirt was completely open, he took her hands in his, took the knife back, and had her drop the bills onto the bed next to them.

"Once we do this spell, sweets, no one'll be able to take me away. Ya ain't gonna get stuck nowhere without me," he pressed her hand to his chest, where his heart should have been. His voice was soft and kind, his touch a soft caress.

"Ya ready Lyds?"

* * *

" _Ya got anywhere else in Paris ya wanna go?"_

"The Notre Dame Cathedral, to hear the bells…"

By no means was Lydia religious, nor could she appreciate the stunning architecture‒ but the acoustics were _legendary_. He spoke like he had been there partying before, which was better for Lydia because she wasn't particularly interested in fumbling the streets of Paris with an equally clueless guide.

"Maybe le Cimetière du Père-Lachaise… I read that it's the biggest in the world. I like walking in cemeteries. They're always so quiet and peaceful…"

Lydia didn't feel so peaceful right now. Her heart was hammering, breath short and fingers trembling over his heart. _Get it together, Lydia_. It was just a little blood. Or maybe it was the fear of actually going through with it, running away into the unknown… with a _man_ ‒ a man who already owned her virginity never minding that they hadn't ever fucked properly. Who else could it ever belong to besides him? Definitely not Mr. Howard.

"I'm ready," she lied with a gulp, mentally psyching herself up for the cut. "Just‒ just _do it_. I don't want to think about it anymore."

* * *

The handle of the little knife was pressed into her right hand again and he directed her so that the blade was positioned on his chest.

"Ya gotta help me a lil, sweetheart…"

He helped to guide her hand and the knife along his chest, leaving a long empty hole above his heart. There was no blood, no mess. Just skin parting easily under the blade. Softly taking her left hand in his and claiming the knife from her right, he pressed the sharp edge to her palm, making a small red line across her skin. The blade was so sharp that the cut was bleeding before she even felt the sting.

Working quickly, he pressed the two wounds together until they could both feel their auras crashing in against them. The base of the magic Betelgeuse used, no matter how simple the spell, always required one of the three components of the dark trinity: blood, terror, lust.

Here with Lydia, he had all three.

While this made for a powerful and effective hex, it now meant that conducting what should have been a simple, painless spell ended up being far from it. The bubble of fear from Lydia and the lust from both of them mingled with the power of their joining blood and sent a bolt of pain through them both. Betelgeuse had called up far more power than necessary and as the magic snapped into place he realized just how tightly he bound himself to Lydia.

Unlike the pain that settled into his bones with every other binding that had been put on him, this one felt more like slipping into a well-fitted pair of boots. It was a comfortable caress rather than a painful cage.

Firstly, he checked to make sure her hand healed the same as his chest. Satisfied with what he saw, he then leaned up to cup her face and kiss her soundly before laying back against her pillows again, a pleased sound escaping him. The leftover magic in the room made their skins buzz.

"Now, baby cakes, we can go to Paris," his voice was cheerful and pleasant, "n' we can go visit all the sites, whatever ya' wanna do."

* * *

Not expecting it due to his lies, Lydia was shocked by the wave of disorienting agony. It only lasted for a moment but it was strong and full-bodied, leaving her writhing atop him in the aftermath, palm obediently sealed to his chest throughout the ordeal. She wouldn't want to have to do this again if breaking the seal botched the ritual.

She caught her breath around the same time he came back to himself, and was awed when those ragged claws of his trailed over her perfectly healed palm, as if nothing had occurred between them.

"You said‒!"

He _didn't_ say it wouldn't hurt, did he? Just that he only needed a little blood.

"... nevermind."

She supposed it didn't really matter. She couldn't feel the hurt anymore, and if that was what was necessary for them to have their fun on an inter-continental field trip, then that was that. Lydia would pay the price over tenfold if she needed to. It was time to go. No more time for waiting and thinking and hesitating and talking herself out of it, not anymore.

"Let me get dressed."

Unfortunately, Lydia's closet was not equipped with anything that she thought worthy of an evening at a Parisian opera house. Frowning, she ran her fingers across each plain black cotton item of clothing, rejecting each one as it fell through her touch. They were all so… simple. Boring. At the very end hung the sheer slip he conjured that got her into so much trouble all those months ago.

"Beej?" Still entirely naked, she peered back unseeing around the frame of the closet to get his attention.

"You wouldn't mind… If it's not too much trouble, I mean…" It seemed silly and trivial to request this of him.

"You couldn't just _poof_ me an outfit could you? I don't think I have anything… _magnifique._ "

* * *

Watching her naked form move around in the candlelit twilight, he decided, was quickly becoming one of his favorite past times. When she hurried to the closed, he rolled onto his side just in time to watch her disappear inside.

" _You couldn't just poof me an outfit could you? I don't think I have anything… magnifique."_

As if pulled by strings, he was off the bed in a flash but once one his feet hit the floor he was back to that slow lazy energy he'd been exuding. Strolling slowly over to her, he pulled her against his still naked chest, palms caressing down her sides.

"Êtes-vous sûr de ne pas vouloir simplement faire comme ça?"

His voice held the hint of a smile and he pressed a kiss to her hair before stepping back, spinning her by the hand like they'd been dancing rather than just standing there. As she spun, it was as if pale strands of moonlight started to collect around her body. The dress solidified around her, silken sheer layers of ivory and pale blue blush fabric floating around in a voluminous skirt. The bodice of the dress hugged her frail upper body, cradling her small breasts, the deep V of the neckline meeting at her waist with the skirt. Flowing down the gown was a texture of embroidered flowers and leaves fit for his faery queen.

As he finished the slow spin, she could feel her hair being piled on top of her head, all the long locks back and away, leaving the clean soft lines of her face visible. Delicate strands of pearls woven into her hair with small bundles of baby's breath and large lillies were interspersed through piles of curls. A delicate sheer veil with scalloped lace edges was attached to one of the lines of pearls and fell to her cheek bones. A choker of even more pearls appeared dark against the column of her pale throat. Delicate silk flats with matching embroidery solidified on her dainty feet.

He reached up to pin the veil back with a long silver hair pin, the head in the shape of a beetle, then spun her another half a turn to get her to face a full length antique mirror he conjured close to her. The candlelight caused a luminous effect on the dress, her skin, and her hair.

"Well? Is this whatcha' were thinkin', ma petite?" He lit a cigarette and had his hands resting on her shoulders. Leaning down to nuzzle at her neck, his hand coming up to remove the cigarette from his lips to keep it from touching her.

"I think folks're gonna have a problem focusing on the opera when we get there, mon coeur," he kissed her neck softly, "Though I think ya were just as stunnin' before I dressed ya'."

He spun her back to face him and pressed a kiss to her lips as they popped out of existence in her bedroom. They settled back into reality in a dimly lit corner of a rather elegant lobby. Betelgeuse pressed a hand to the small of Lydia's back directing her around to a set of stairs.

"Welcome to Paris, darlin'."

* * *

The gown was so light and sheer, Lydia almost felt naked and feared for a moment he had put her in another see-through thing‒ _but no, he wouldn't, not for a public outing_. She would trust him.  
 _  
"Well? Is this whatcha' were thinkin', ma petite?"_

"I think so?"

Her legs weakened while he pawed at her, praising her alleged beauty, and Lydia suddenly didn't care anymore how much skin she was or wasn't showing, not if it meant he would touch her and talk to her like _that_. Like she was the most beautiful woman in the world.

"It's _perfect._ "

The world displaced when his lips landed on hers and in a moment they were not where they were before. Hushed voices could be heard a ways away whispering in French. It was dim enough for Lydia to make out the deep crimson shade of the plush carpet beneath them that led toward a grand staircase, opulent golden statues of nude specimens of the human form lining the walls.

When she moved with him as he led her through the opera house, the whispering fabric of her gown felt like wind on her legs. Excitement bubbled higher with each step, and by the time he was ushering her into _their own private box_ , she had a hand plastered over her mouth to help conceal giddy sounds. She didn't know which opera they were going to see‒ _he would be the only one "seeing" it_ ‒ but Lydia didn't care.

It didn't matter that she wouldn't know the story, or understand the language, or even get to see the phenomenal set and costume design. This was about the experience. She felt like a _princess_ , loved and important and _worthy_. Lydia had been prepared to settle upright and proper like a lady in her‒ _she assumed‒_ beautiful dress but Betelgeuse pulled her down comfortably in his lap before she could pick a seat of her own. This pulled forth a new string of giggles but she managed to quiet them as the room around them hushed, and an array of light shone through the darkness signifying the curtains rising.

She still didn't know what show they were seeing and was too embarrassed to ask at this point. A high soprano rang soft throughout the auditorium before crescendoing to a peak. It was so pure and beautiful, the clarity of the sound brought an emotional, awed tear to her icy blue eye. A pale hand squeezed Betelgeuse's tight beneath white lace fingerless gloves. The woman singing finally stopped to take a breath, and Lydia released hers.

* * *

Once she relaxed back into him, he nuzzled her neck and whispered into her ear.

"I got ya the box with the best acoustics," he pressed a program he magicked braille onto into her hand, the title _La Boheme_ stamped across the front.

He wasn't interested in the music, or the performance. The only show he was interested in was sitting in his lap; cheeks flushed, breathing hitched, the sound of her pulse lulling him. He pressed his lips to her neck, settled them into the seat more comfortably, and popped his shiny dress shoes up on the edge of the balcony, lighting a cigarette.

This wasn't his favorite suit but he didn't want to ruin Lydia's experience. He had even donned a glamor making him look as he had in life, and thanks to the blood freely given he even had the illusion of a reflection. His hand trailed lazily along her body and he enjoyed her enjoying the opera.

He had more plans for her this evening. Hopefully, by the end of the night she wouldn't want to go back to that house.

* * *

The first two acts went by with Lydia a gasping, smiling hodge podge of sensitivity and emotion in his arms but she wasn't at the edge of her seat. There was no point. Her sight being what it was, she was free to let her eyes shut in relaxation while melting into her date's arms, and just _experience_ the music.

The notes caressed her like a hug. At times, it felt as though she were on stage with them and the show was happening all around her. Intermission rolled around and she shot to her feet against Betelgeuse's stubborn hold, clapping so loudly and enthusiastically her palms ached, but she didn't care and kept right on. Her ivory-shrouded form was a beacon of light from the balcony drawing other patrons to stare at the poltergeist's prize‒ and even a few cast members from backstage peaking through the curtain.

Lydia didn't know how she shone, and maybe that made her more luminous.

"Oh, Beej," she gasped, turning from her admirers, "it's wonderful! Just _wonderful!"_

True, she had no idea what was going on in terms of the plot but she could feel the emotion behind every line, every risen and fallen pitch. Experiencing this kind of high art through her stereo just wasn't going to cut it anymore now that she knew what she was missing.

"It's just intermission, right? It's not over yet?"

* * *

When she insisted to stand and applaud at intermission she pulled him to the edge of his seat, making sure she didn't get too excited so close to the balcony's edge. He was leaning forward, elbows on knees when she turned back to him, face beaming like the moon.

_"It's wonderful! Just wonderful!"_

He smiled and caught her hand, pulling her back to him from where she escaped.

"I'm glad you like it, sweets," his hands circled her waist, "just intermission, I think the program said forty-five minutes?"

He leaned back into his seat, pulling her onto his lap again, and tapped the side table, making a bottle of wine and two glasses appear. Pouring her a glass, he pressed it into her fingers.

"I'm thinkin' dinner after this, whaddya say?" He slid a cool hand up along her leg under the voluminous skirt, his lips gliding along her neck, "n' maybe after we go have some fun explorin' we can have dessert," he nipped at her creamy skin.

* * *

Heat furled in her belly at his words and antics. It felt very much to Lydia as though enough was enough and tonight would be the night she would lose herself to him completely. It gave her a thrill of anticipation paired with the natural fear and reservations of an inexperienced young lamb in a wolf's clutches.

"I could eat."

Teeth nipped her jugular, her fingers trembled, and she would have spilt wine onto her pristine gown if his larger hand didn't come along to correct hers and guide the lip of the glass to her mouth, encourage her to drink. The wine was sweet and heavy on her tongue, and without sight Lydia knew it was dark.

The few sips gave her a pleasant buzz. When the music returned, she was just as titillated and receptive as before, clinging desperately to her date as a sort of anchor as the emotions of each ballad poured over her. By Mimi's death at the end of the fourth act, she had been brought to silent tears, a steady crystalline stream marking each of her cheeks while a pained, pale blue gaze stared out at nothing.

"That was beautiful," she hushed into his ear, heartbroken, as people began to rise and applaud again. The show had left her too emotionally ravaged to bring herself to do the same as she had done before.

"I'm sorry," she faltered once she realized how far she was gone, gathering herself and sitting up straight to swipe wetness from her cheeks. "I don't know what's come over me‒ Must be the wine…"

* * *

He cupped her face between his hands and used his thumbs to wipe at her tears. He kissed her softly before helping her to her feet so he could stand.

"I'm just glad ya' enjoyed it, baby doll."

Pulling her in flush against himself, he gave her a squeeze. With a blink of his eye there were standing in a new dimly lit room, the smells of food drifting to them from farther into the restaurant. He kept his hand at the small of her back while he spoke with the Maitre'd. Betelgeuse understood French but when he spoke, it was slow and slightly stilted as if he had to really focus on what he was trying to say. His voice wasn't quite the same with his glamor. There was less of a growl and it sounded more hoarse but it was still the same gravely rumble.

When they were led to a private area where only candle light illuminated the room, he pulled out a chair for Lydia and helped guide her into it before seating himself across from her. He ordered himself a scotch and a bottle of wine from the waiter then gladly took the menu. He moved his chair around to sit next to Lydia pressing the now braille menu into her delicate hands.

"Whatcha hungry for, Babe?" Betelgeuse draped his arm across the back of her chair and leaned into her space, his fingers playing along her bare shoulder.

When the waiter came back with their drinks, Betelgeuse watched him with narrowed eyes. He didn't like the way the young man was eyeballing his Lydia. After the waiter poured the wine and went to leave he unexpectedly tripped on nothing. That made Betelgeuse grin as he passed Lydia her glass. They were sitting so close at this point had she not been wearing the voluminous skirt their thighs would have been touching. They were a vision in contrast, her luminessence to his darkness, the black of his suit harsh against her pale beauty.

* * *

She couldn't tell how sequestered their table was, but could feel a pleasant breeze waft by occasionally and surmised they were near an open terrace. Lydia had not missed the subtle change to his voice, but did not put a second thought to it with the wonder of the opera laid out before her. Now in the brighter candlelight, tucked underneath his arm, her chair pulled close as was comfortably possible, the bronze shade of his skin was clearer to her.

"I was wondering why no one was saying anything…"

Her fingers trailed along a severely cut cheekbone and into silky dirty blonde hair, cotton candy pink lips parted in amaze.

"You're all _different_."

It wasn't an insult. Or a compliment. Just an amused observation by the tickled pink girl. Literally, she was pink. The shade of her cheeks marked her changing moods visibly, giving away her emotions clear as day every time. Only a few more moments were spared to map out the contours of his strange new face before turning her attention to the menu‒ completely missing the way he sent their waiter flying.

" _Whatcha hungry for, Babe?"_

"Hmm…"

Head lolling onto his shoulder the way she had become accustomed to in the past couple hours at the opera, she traced through the menu, humming with hunger at all the different options.

"I don't know," she kissed beneath his jaw, taken in by the romance of it all and forgetting that she was supposed to be looking for food. It was hard to choose between all the decadent options, the choice made more difficult by her date and his distracting presence. She _was_ hungry though. By the time she could hear the waiter returning, she perked up, aiming her face in his general direction to order in near perfect French.

The language rolled lovely and smooth off her tongue, enough to fool their server into thinking she was a kept French mistress out with her beau. Confident that Betelgeuse could cover the check, Lydia didn't hold back. She ordered everything that caught her interest, unsure if she would ever be back here again and unwilling to miss out.

"Is that too much?" She switched to English at the end of her order, turning attention to her date. She had called for several appetizers, three different entrees, and two desserts.

* * *

"Nah, Babes, that's perfect."

He switched back to French to let the waiter know that would be all. He collected her wine glass off the table and handed it to her before retrieving his own glass of scotch.

"I didn't think ya'd even notice I changed," he pressed a kiss to her cheek, and stretched out his legs in front of his seat, slouching slightly.

"Watcha think, Love? Ya likin' this so far? Y'know," he leaned in to whisper, his cool breath tickling her ear, "we never havta go back, we could do this every night…"

His hand was trailing up along the loose ruffles of her skirt, cool lips moving along her neck and shoulder. She was lucky he had big plans for this evening. He had a few more surprises planned, and he couldn't get distracted. No matter how alluring her blushes and smiles were, or how good she smelled, or how warm her little body was.

He had felt so relaxed since she released him earlier that afternoon. He wasn't sure when last he'd been this at ease but if she didn't stop being so fucking intoxicating they weren't going to make it to the rest of what he had planned. When she'd kissed his jaw, it had nearly undone him right there.

This was only temporary. Juno would realize what he'd done eventually and that would mean more trouble for both of them but if he could convince Lydia to marry him, then they would both be free. He could take care of her‒ that's what this was about. Proving to her now that he could provide and care for her.

He snapped out of his thoughts to notice that her glass was nearly empty and refilled it for her, his own liquor sitting forgotten on the table. He pressed his face into her hair inhaling her intoxicating scent. Perhaps, he liked her better this way, all shiny and happy, and not scared. Either way he couldn't wait for dinner to end. She had entirely too much clothing on for his liking.

* * *

They shared a cigarette while waiting for their extravagant order. Lydia limited herself to only sipping down one glass of wine, making that two in addition to the one she took her time with at the opera. Her previous experience chugging dark liquor with him in the attic had taught her that she was a lightweight. The last thing she wanted was to get too drunk and either ruin or forget this beautiful night.

He pet her and she pet back, her advances shy and demure while his bordered on the edge of too much. Delicate fingers traced his strange human face, his nose, lips, eyes, feeling out the details and memorizing. They moved down to his neck and shoulders, just as methodical and gentle as when she was examining the handbook.

Meanwhile, he was squeezing and groping‒ not too rough but firmly enough to speak to his desire. He seemed to relish making her pulse race by stimulating the sensitive flesh on her neck and around her ears, kissing and nipping and tickling soft baby hairs. Every few seconds, his lips would return to her jugular as if to gauge how much faster he was making her heart beat. Large hands moved possessively along her silhouette, never hesitating to stop and squeeze whatever he liked from her luscious little breast to the compact nipped in curve of her tiny waist.

By the time the server returned with their meal, that hand was making its way up her skirt and Lydia was getting nervous. Squeezing her thighs shut in an attempt to still the wriggling limb, she flashed a flustered grin in the direction of the waiter and thanked him for his service.

Lydia didn't know where to start. It all smelled so _good_. Salivating, she leaned far over the table to try and get a better look at everything, unable to get as close as she would really need to for a clear image, but happy to sight the blurry food anyway.

"I have no idea what any of this is and I want to eat all of it," she announced with eyes bigger than her stomach, sitting back to lick her lips. However, her hand hesitated hovering over the fork and she turned a hopeful gaze his way. "Help me? I don't uh… _I can't see what I'm doing_. I don't want to eat anything the wrong way."

Biting right into an escargot shell sounded like an unpleasant experience she would rather avoid.

* * *

He leaned back with a soft sigh when she snapped her knees together denying his seeking touch but stood to move and talk to the waiter when he came. It only took a few words and a substantial tip pressed into his hand to make sure that they would not be disturbed.

It gave him a small happy twinge in his chest to see the smile spread across her sweet little porcelain face as she mooned over the food. It seemed funny to him that something so simple as this could make him feel so content. For a moment he thought she was going to fall when she had leaned up on to the table to try and take a look at the spread she ordered.

Once she settled herself back in her seat, licked her little rosebud lips, and asked so sweetly for his help, Betelgeuse knew that he would do anything she asked of him. He also knew that sitting next to her was no longer going to work for him.

Smiling, he strolled back to gather her into his arms, then sat in her now empty chair so that he could perch her on his lap. He had his arms around her waist, and pressed a quick kiss to her neck before reaching for her silverware and eyed the dishes carefully. He hadn't really paid attention to what she was ordering, but it all smelled and looked delightful. He decided against the desserts, they would keep until later. His eyes landed on a shallow dish of Soupe à l'oignon and smiled.

"Let's see..." Selecting a carefully sized bite, he blew on the steaming spoonful first before holding it to her lips.

* * *

This was not what Lydia meant when she asked for "help", and _almost_ demanded he let her be to feed herself‒ but stopped herself. This wasn't babying. He knew she could take care of herself. He _liked_ doing this. She _asked_. Ignoring the impulse to reach for her plate or silverware, she instead stilled twitching fingers and opened her mouth to receive the best bite of French onion soup she had ever had in her life.

Panera Bread didn't have _shit_ on this. This was what food was supposed to taste like. Rich and decadent with a multitude of varying flavors that spectacularly complimented each other while melding on her tongue. The gruyere was soft and sharp, offsetting the strong flavor of onion, heady beef consume tying it all together and freshly baked croutons beneath the cheese providing texture and balance.

That was just the first bite. Lydia _moaned_ as it slid down her throat, all too happy to let her lips drop open for him again when he returned with a second and third spoonful. The next morsel he had for her was different and she hummed in delighted surprise at the new flavors introduced to her palate.

She recognized the texture of chicken and mushroom, the protein delicate and falling apart on her tongue. It tasted as if it had been stewed in a rich, smoky sauce with tomatoes, garlic… bacon? Wine?

"What's this one," she queried in between bites, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek in silent gratitude for his feeding her. It was a unique experience, she would give it that. "It's _so_ good."

* * *

She was so precious, his little faery queen, the way she lit up when she got that first bite. The way she squirmed in his lap, the soft pleasure noises she made, they may as well have been back in her bedroom.

He remembered enjoying food when he was alive, and knew now that he could eat if he wanted to, but after selling off so much of his soul and all the centuries of being dead, the taste was very muted. Strong liquors still held flavor for him and he enjoyed the flavor of his newest drug of choice, Lydia. She hit the spot better than any booze, or smoke he'd had, to say he was addicted was an understatement. Not that he'd ever admit it out loud.

" _What's this one?"_

His attention snapped back to what he'd been doing, her soft voice calling him back from his thoughts. With an arched eyebrow, he looked down at the dish he'd just been feeding her from and clicked his tongue.

"That, baby girl, is coq au vin. Smells like it anyway," his eyes landed on another dish she'd ordered and he leaned closer to the table grinning, he picked up a delicate three pronged fork and tongs, and reached for the dish.

"Ya ever tried escargot before, babe?"

He scooted the special dish holding the little shells closer to the edge of the table and pressed the fork into her hand. He used the tongs to pluck a shell out of the tray and brought it out over her plate, then helped direct her hand with the fork to draw the little chunk of flesh from inside. The warm butter and herb smell stronger now, and he offered her a small piece of bread to put it on.

* * *

"Never."

It was divine. Lydia's insides felt just as mushy and buttered up as the unfortunate snail sliding down her gullet as he continued to feed her, his large hands showing hers what to do for the more involved dishes. She had a little bit of everything, and even though he never stopped to partake, he seemed to have an intelligent grasp on which order she should try each dish, the many varying flavors never clashing from bite to bite.

Before moving onto the sweets, he urged her wine glass to her lips to clear her palate, and Lydia sipped of it deeply, the buzzing headrush she felt afterward driving her to press wine-stained lips to his. They made out for a little while then, food forgotten. He was hard in his slacks under her thigh, and Lydia pushed her weight down boldly while kissing him, purposefully stimulating where she knew he was aroused and sensitive.

"Aren't you going to eat anything?" She questioned between kisses, the words breathed gentle against his mouth. It was easy to forget that he was dead and gone and lacking biological function when he was so _alive_ against her, his aura running so hot she could almost be fooled into thinking he had a pulse, grip tight on her hips while they canoodled in the shadowy cafe.

"It all tastes so _good_ ," she purred, running fingers through his hair smoothly, nails scratching against his scalp in a way his true form never would have allowed with all the mold and tangles. She didn't mind the texture, but from the way his hips rocked up, a growl vibrating deep in his chest, she could surmise that he approved. She would have to try playing with his hair more when he was himself again.

"I don't want you to miss out."

* * *

_"Aren't you going to eat anything?"_

"I'm thinkin' about it, but I think I'm holdin' out for dessert," his mind wasn't on the delights on the table but the little cream puff in his grasp. Her wine sweetened lips affecting him more than drinking the entire bottle of wine would have.

_"It all tastes so good… I don't want you to miss out."_

"I ain't missin' out baby doll," her fingers in his hair were distracting. He pressed down on her hips, grinding up against her, "I get to watch ya, and besides I think you taste better anyway."

He could just have her here, fuck the rest of the evening. His hand was pulling at the layers of her skirt, finally discovering the satin of her stocking. His fingertips ghosted up her thigh, a light tickle. When he came to lace tops of the stockings, his hand moved, warm from how close he had been keeping her, to stroke her through the light silk underwear he dressed her in. Lips moving down along her neck, stopping over her pulse to bite softly.

"Ya ready for dessert yet, babes?" His low smoky voice holding a trace of laughter in it.

* * *

"Always."

A warm, shaky breath of a whimper caught on his ear when the rough tip of his finger delicately petted over the crotch of her panties, tracing the swell of her labia. Forgetting their location, her thighs melted open over his knee easily, the generous swathe of her skirts providing discretion. Her head lolled back on his shoulder, flesh electric and wrought with goosebumps from the subtle, searching touch.

This was _dirty_. She could _hear other people_ nearby. Not too close, but close enough to add the thrill of getting caught to their forray. Lydia couldn't bring herself to care too much one way or the other if they were seen. _What would they do? Tell her parents?_

The corners of her mouth ticked upwards at the rebellious thought. It was only temporary. All this freedom and happiness couldn't possibly last forever. Best to make the most of it.

"I don't know if you know this about me…" It was husked in his ear, a flushed cheek resting on his shoulder, one of her hands laying limp‒ _at first glance‒_ over her breast. If one were to watch closely, they would catch her fingering her own nipple through the thin bodice.

"But I have an _insatiable_ sweet tooth…"

* * *

His hand moved to cover hers, cupping, massaging her breast. His hips pressing up against her bottom, his fingers moving slowly but firmly against her. The cloth of her panties became damp as he pressed and rubbed at her, a grin spread across his lips as he pressed another firm kiss to her neck.

Deftly he slipped his hand to the top of her panties and pulled them from her body in a quick jerk. Once she was bare to his touch he cupped his hand down over her. He tooks his time palming her clit, his fingers gliding along her warm damp folds, and then achingly slowly he pressed one finger inside her. His hand working her slowly.

"So, baby cakes," he added a pressure to his hand and ground his hips up against her, "What bonbons do ya wanna try first? Creme brulee? Paris-Brest? Another glass of Sauternes?"

She was starting to writhe against him, the sweet little noises coming from her rose bud lips telling him she was getting close. One, two more strokes and he slowly removed his hand from her and her skirt, ignoring her distress sounds at the absence of his questing fingers. He pressed a kiss to her flushed cheek and brought the finger, damp with her to his mouth. Slowly, he pressed it into his mouth much as he'd just done to her body and sucked it clean of her. A needful contented growl coming from him at the taste, better than any wine. Pulling the finger from his mouth he let it make a small popping noise, before nuzzling her neck.

"See, babes? Told ya I ain't missin' out. Tu es délicieux bébé."

Cheerfully he picked up the dessert spoon and cracked the top of the creme brulee, the strong smell of burnt sugar and rich custard filling the air around them. He removed a spoonful of the sweet cream and dabbed her on the nose with a chuckle before offering her the bite.

"Once you finish yer bonbons, ma cherie, I have another surprise for ya. Night ain't even close to over yet."


	12. Chapter 12

It was a good thing he thought ahead enough to get them a secluded table and bribe the waiter to fuck off. Lydia was a wanton mess in his lap, writhing, fucking herself on his finger slow and hot to complement his rhythm‒ but then the delicious little stretch was gone and he was offering her sweets again.

Sorely tempted to rush through trying everything, Lydia instead calmed herself with deep breaths, clenching slick thighs together compulsively to feel just a bit more of that euphoria he teased. The sides of her hips still stung a little from where he ripped her underwear off. She wasn't sure where they went, but she thought she might have felt him shift to stuff them in his pocket.

At peak arousal now, she shifted uncomfortably as he traced champagne-soaked strawberries over her lips and urged her to suckle sweet creams and custards from a spoon he held. His arousal never went away, and it didn't take much work to angle herself properly; drape each knee with her thighs spread over his, arch her back and situate her pulsating core right over his clothed cock, wiggle around and get that stimulation they both craved.

He must have done this on purpose. All her senses were heightened and mingling. A dab of rich chocolate mousse melted on her tongue, his hips rocked up, and her tongue and pussy salivated in time with each other.

_"Unngh,"_ she moaned a touch too loudly, drawing a prolonged stare from another table.

"I can't take it anymore," she pled, gripping the edge of their table. "Please can we go? Somewhere we can be alone?"

* * *

He could feel her squirm, and he very much enjoyed that. He also realized how much he was truly enjoying feeding her and watching her try all the different dishes. So focused was he on that pleasure, he missed her movements. When she wiggled down against him, his hand faltered and he made a low noise in his throat. Mouth moving down to bite at her sweet neck, his hips ground up with a bit more force than before.

He smiled against her neck when she moaned, and when she asked‒ no, _begged_ to be taken away from there… well, how could he refuse her anything? She could have asked for anything and he would have complied. As it was, he pulled a wad of cash from his jacket pocket and tossed it to the table. He caught her face and turned her mouth to his, and with a heavy kiss, they slipped through existence at the table.

When they materialized, it was dark, cool, and smelled of damp foliage. There was a perfumed quality to the air that happens when surrounded by an abundance of flowers. It never really got dark or light in the Neitherworld. But this particular garden was in an area where the sky tended to stay a deep purple, light came down from what could pass as reflection of the moon in the living world.

Betelgeuse had landed them softly onto a thick layer of moss and cushioning grass, just under the edge of a stand of giant black roses. Back in his striped suit and sans any glamor, he was stretched out beneath his sweet little lover, hands fisting in the layers of her skirt to pull her in against him.

* * *

Somewhere between there and here, he became her grimy, scratchy, filthy lover again, her fingers catching in his wiry mane as they tangled, no silky locks to be found.

"I want to do something for you…" she whispered close to his mouth, holding intense and rare eye contact while she could. "To say thank you. I never thought anyone would ever want to take me on a date…"

Emotion made her eyes glassy, but she fought through it to make sure she wouldn't cry. Tears were not sexy, she had learned the hard way.

"This has been _the best_ night of my life."

She never wanted it to end. By smell alone, she knew that they were outside, a floral scent hinting at the presence of a garden. Soft, wet grass beneath her knees aided this hunch, but Lydia was too concerned with other things to fret over the state of her beloved new dress. The way he had taught her to, she _ripped_ his shirt open, pulling the tails from his slacks before making clumsy work of unbuttoning them, boldly fishing out the erection she wriggled on top of for the better part of the last few hours.

Soft, hot kisses mapped a burning trail down his chest. If her intentions weren't clear before, they certainly were now.

* * *

Her fingers were in his hair again, catching more now than before but still it made him rock his hips against her, a low growl rumbling in his chest.

" _I want to do something for you…"_

She was talking, and he was trying to focus on the words. Most of his control was exhausted at the restaurant, but at the sound of her voice, he locked his eyes to hers. It made his chest clench, and the spot where she shared blood with him burned. Her pretty… no, _beautiful_ crystalline eyes stared into his.

Until that moment, he never realized how much he cherished little things like eye contact with her. It was so rare. He used eye contact to intimidate and coerce ordinarily that was never an option with Lydia. He realized again with a shock that he didn't mind that about her‒ that he had to actually work to communicate with her, think about what he wanted to convey rather than following nasty habitual impulses.

Fuck, he was starting to go soft for this little mortal.

She jerked him from his thoughts as she ripped his shirt open. Leaning up on his elbows to watch her fumble with his belt and pants, he was somewhere between enjoying how bold she was being and wanting to help her. He opted to let her do it herself.

When she pulled his cock free, he groaned and flopped back down. It surprised him every time just how warm and soft she was in touch and in being; he was also relieved to not be cramped inside the slacks any longer. Her warmth was spreading across his skin, her hot little kisses and delicate hands questing across his firm chest and soft gut. A particular spot on his chest throbbed in time with her pulse.

When it occurred to him where she was heading, he lifted himself up to watch her work her way down his body, digging claws into the soft cushioning beneath him.

* * *

It would be a lie to say that she wasn't a little afraid of the task she found herself bold enough to attempt but one couldn't tell from looking. Only the sharp tang to her scent gave her away to the ghoul beneath her. Betelgeuse thought she was _beautiful_ and _sexy_. Ambition to prove him right was stronger than fear of proving him wrong.

His belly was soft and pleasant to touch, so she enjoyed letting her lips caress down over it as she worked toward her true goal, the leaking hunk of rigid flesh held in her palm. It was silky and _heavy_ and every bit as big and daunting as the last time she held it. Despite the palpable uptick of that tang in her scent, no further time was wasted with dilly-dallying and fretting.

As soon as she was there, she was _on him_ , the entire fat head and a couple thick inches immediately brought to rest on the wet bed of her tongue, the soft muscle undulating and caressing curiously. Her mouth was just as tiny as the rest of her making it a tight fit, but she managed an above-average effort with what she had to work with.

"Mmf," she choked on a brave swallow that brought several girthy inches closer toward the back of her throat, a pale fist curling into his pant leg to help calm her through her throat spasming. It didn't work, Lydia popping off of him with a loud gasp and slick cherry lips, momentarily resting her cheek on his hip bone to give herself a break. Still, she kept working him, stroking to spread her saliva down the shaft and pressing sweet kisses to the base.

"Sorry," she whispered for her embarrassing show of gagging, then kissed it again. "Is this good?"

* * *

The soft scent of her fear hit him at the same time she took him into her mouth, making him throb. She was so fucking warm, and _tight_ ‒ fuck, they should have done this sooner. His body tensed to keep himself from thrusting into her mouth, and he let out a shocked breath he hadn't realised had been in his lungs.

She looked so small and pretty on his cock like that. He was impressed with how much of him she was able to fit into that sweet little mouth. He was making that low growling groan, deep in his chest. When she tried to swallow and choked, he collapsed back flat into the ground covering moss. His cock throbbed in her mouth, and when she pulled back and off of him he let out a ragged breath and little low rumbling moan. Her little hand still worked him, and now without the worry of choking her he let his hips press up against her hand. Her soft hot lips continued to press against him, making him shudder.

" _Sorry… Is this good?"_

"Fuck, babes," it came out more as a groaning gasp than words, he cleared his throat and tried again, "Yeah, baby girl, it's good, very fuckin' good."

The spot on his chest was still pulsing in time with her pulse. He leaned up enough to tread his fingers into her hair and catch one of the strings of pearls. Giving it a tug to let all her hair fall around her like moonbeams, his fingers threaded into the silky tendrils.

"Ya ain't got nothin' ta be sorry for sweetheart, yer doin' real good."

Her warm fingers drove him mad as they worked his length. His hips bucked up against her, the gentle feel of her rose bud lips pressing on him. She looked like the faery queen he imagined her to be with wild silvery locks in the purple twilight, her pale dress gathering grass stains and leaves making her look all the more ethereal.

* * *

His praise reignited her fire, reminded her why she wanted to do this to begin with. Nothing in Lydia's life had ever made her _feel_ the way that the sound of his voice did. A subtle shift of his intonation in that vaguely Southern growling drawl had the power to soak her panties, or put her baby hairs on end‒ if he so chose.

Clutching at him passionately, one little hand tangled in the thick of his belly hair, the other weakly strangling the base of his cock, she returned to sucking him down. Vaguely, she was aware that her hair wasn't up anymore, but he was there to fist it and pull it away from her face so the obstacle didn't bother Lydia any in her task.

Knowing better now than to try and swallow beyond her limits, she grew confident enough to work up to a rhythm that fell in line with his addictive grunts and snarls. These sounds of his made her feel _powerful_ ‒ a foreign sensation for an unloved blind girl. Soft lips, slick and kissed-puffy, glided along his length smoothly, the girl's brow furrowed in savoring concentration, as if this was a delicious meal she was partaking in and wanted to dissect all the flavors.

It was an expression Betelgeuse should have been familiar with if he could pry his eyes open long enough to look at her without blowing too soon and ruining it.

* * *

Lydia had him feeling like a randy boy. She almost had him unloading in his slacks when she begged to leave the restaurant. Now she had him all worked up and on the verge of release and she had barely started. There was still the lingering scent of fear, but now lust was starting to overpower it. The more confident she got in her actions, the harder it was for him to hold on to what little control he had.

He knew she was afraid of what he could become, but as long as he wasn't attacking or in her face with it, being a little lax with his control shouldn't be a problem. He had been so relaxed and felt so calm with Lydia, calmer than he had in centuries, but now he could feel that dark uncontrollable energy bleeding back into him. Every time she sighed over him, or gasped, or her scent permated, he could feel something in his chest stirring.

Betelgeuse bucked his hips up into her mouth before he could stop himself. The hand in her hair balled into a tighter fist. His body was shuddering on each of her sweet downstrokes, claws carving deep furrows into the moss and soil next to him. The last of his tedious control snapped.

"Lydia, honey…"

It came out as a gasping growl. His hips bucked again and his body tensed as he came hard and heavy.

* * *

His fist tightened in her hair at the same time his hips ground up into her face, cutting off her comfortable rhythm to force a load of cum down her throat. It was a lot. She choked and gagged around him, and when she was granted freedom, she fell into a brief coughing fit that left her eyes watery. The way they shined complemented the gleam of the dribble of semen at the corner of her lips.

"You didn't have to _do that_ ," she complained weakly, sitting up a bit to right her appearance somewhat. With or without clear vision, she knew she must have been a wreck. "I was going to swallow anyway."

One too many lewd jokes and conversations had been overhead from boys in her age range debating the merits of spit v. swallow. The majority consensus was clear. Regardless of how rough he got at the end there, he was still a panting, shaking mass in the grass beneath her and Lydia was proud that she had been able to bring him to a state like this. Usually, he was the one still in full control of his faculties while she was trembling and sweating and on the verge of losing consciousness.

It was a refreshing change of pace. Standing, she left him behind to recover while she explored the immediate vicinity. The tip of her nose twitched as she followed the scents in the air, pressing her face boldly into a big, soft bloom with lots of petals. A shroud of brilliant moonlight had cast everything in a hazy glow for Lydia. It was all still fuzzy, but colors and shapes were clearer, and she was seeing _so many_ , some that were so new and vibrant she didn't think she had a name for them.

"Beej… where _are_ we?"

* * *

He laid there for a moment, watching her start to explore the garden. Her shimmery white form, and quick little movements reminding him of something… he couldn't quite put his finger on.

As he was getting himself resettled into his slacks she moved from bloom to bloom. When she leaned in, her nose twitched. He let a startled chuckle slip out. Betelgeuse knew he needed to catch up with her before she left the safety of the rose garden. Once back on his feet he slowly followed after her, hands in pockets, shirt and jacket hanging open. Why fix it at this point when he was hoping for another roll in the flowers soon anyway?

_"Beej… where are we?"_

"Hmmm? Oh, Neitherworld flower garden," he scuffed his boot in the grass before looking her over again. "I wouldn't go too much further without help, not all these plants are friendly."

When she leaned in close to another large bloom it hit him. She very much reminded him of a faery always, but just now she looked like a little white rabbit. Bouncing around all in white, but maybe "rabbit" was too harsh for her. Perhaps…

"So, m'lil _Bunny_ , whaddya think? I don't expect ya get to see many bloomin' flowers things bein' what they are…"

He had conjured a cigarette, trailing his fingers through her hair as he stood behind her, teasing the fine baby hairs along the base of her neck.

* * *

True to form, Lydia _hopped_ and giggled when he snuck up behind her to tickle her baby hairs, snapping around to turn and face him.

"Neitherworld…?"

Awe kept her lips parted and eyes big as she took yet another useless look around, as if she might spot the visual differences between one realm and the next. Of course, she couldn't, and the smell here was no different from what she might smell in a garden in the living realm, so she would have to just take his word for it.

Suddenly overwhelmed by the revelation that she was on an entirely different plane of existence and hadn't even realized it, Lydia lost her bearings for a moment, reaching out to grab for blurry black and white stripes and steady herself. He was right, of course, the way he tended to be most of the time. Lydia never got to enjoy flowers in full bloom, not like this.

"There's no sunlight here? Ever?"

To anyone else, that would be a bleak item of information to take in regarding the afterlife, but to Lydia it was paradisiacal. Death was looking better and better by the day.

"I think it's amazing." If she were any quieter, he wouldn't have been able to hear the reverent hush. "I think _you're_ amazing. I think the only reason I exist is so that I could be here. With you. Right now."

Questions of past and future seemed so small and insignificant at the moment. Here, there was only perfection.

* * *

_"Neitherworld?"_

"Yup," he spoke around the cigarette clenched in his teeth, his hand reaching out to catch hers as it reached, "the afterlife, the here after, the great beyond, what comes next. Y'know. Death."

The look on her face was worth coming back to this insufferable hell hole. It was so shiny and happy. He made a good choice, it seemed, in hoping she would like the flowers.

_"There's no sunlight here? Ever?"_

Pulling her in against his body, her back to his chest, his touch smoothed down her shoulder, collar bone, and chest.

"It's always twilight n' never day or night. Least in this corner. Other places, the sky is neon orange and s'almost worse than real sunlight." He leaned over to press a kiss into her hair, holding her back against him, then flicked his cigarette away.

" _I think you're amazing. I think the only reason I exist is so that I could be here. With you. Right now."_

"Lydia, love… marry me." The spot on his chest burned and he sounded hoarse, lips grazing her wild curls while he lazily stroked her chest.

* * *

Once more he mentioned marriage, and once more Lydia's heart clenched in trepidation at the prospect even as the corners of her lips turned even higher and wider, that angelic peaceful smile breaking into nervous giggles.

"Beej," she faltered, making a half-hearted move as if she meant to step away. His grip was too strong, and she stayed right where she was without fighting his hold further. "We _can't_."

Didn't he understand? Marriage was so _final_ and _adult_ and _scary_. The only examples of married couples that Lydia knew of casted images of unhappy people only pretending to support and love one another for the sake of appearances. What she and Betelgeuse had was already so perfect. Why did he want to ruin it?

"I'm too young. I don't think it's even _legal_. And what if… _what if it doesn't work out?"_

It physically pained Lydia to voice such a fear but if he was going to be the irrational, reckless one, someone had to be the adult.

"You could wake up and decide you hate me one day."

Considering his rapid, terrifying mood swings, this wasn't that far outside the realm of possibility, not in Lydia's opinion.

"Then what? Would we get divorced? What would _that_ even look like?"

The longer she carried on, the more tense his arms became around her, and Lydia mistook it for a comforting embrace in the face of her fears, relaxing back into the serpent's arms once more. The blissful haze of their romp was tainted now. Eager to fix it, Lydia turned her jaw up to press an unseeing kiss to wherever her lips could reach‒ his throat.

"Just give me some time," she pled, sensing his upset, but not quite the full depth of it. "Let me think about it…"

* * *

Her scent spiked when he asked‒ in a good way. Then before she could get out her denial, he could smell it, feel it in the way she held herself. She was turning him down a second time.

Betelgeuse regularly spent a great deal of energy making his spirit stuff seem more human and alive for his own personal comfort‒ but with her words, what was left of his heart clenched and he dropped those petty magics to keep from losing control and doing something he would regret once he calmed. If he calmed.

The little efforts of life he pulled around himself fell away and his body became cooler and felt empty. His arms no longer really felt like arms but heavy bands holding her to his corpse. No effort was taken for the tiny breaths he used to talk and smoke. For long moments, he was just a quiet empty shell. That's when lightning began to flash across the purple twilight.

He could smell her fear. He knew he was holding her too tight and that she would have bruises later but he wanted her hurt and scared. If he had to feel like this, like she was prying his heart from his ribcage, then she could give him a little more fear and even their playing field.

She was talking to him, her voice that same soft sweetness it always was but it was all just reasons why she wouldn't say yes. When she pressed her lips to his throat, that was it. Something snapped in him. He could feel his claws and fangs and as his vision became red washed.

"Lydia… you ssssshould run."

* * *

The choked command‒ really more of a friendly suggestion‒ took her aback.

"Wh… what?"

Something was wrong. He was _too_ still around her, as if he was a true corpse and rigor mortis had set in. Everything flashed bright, too much so, and Lydia cried out at the assault to her eyes, struggling and wriggling until she was free from his iron grasp and could throw her arms over her face protectively.

"Beej?" She sounded so small and confused, unaware of her place and footing now without him to hold her steady and be her grounding point. "Are you doing that? What's going on? I don't understand!"

As her hysteria escalated, the lightning show ceased, allowing her to drop her arms and feel out for his aura again‒ except it wasn't in any one particular place. It was _everywhere_ , brushing along her skin and filling her lungs with _him_. He had to be feeling a lot to be taking up so much space.

Fuzzy, familiar black and white stripes were missing. There was… _something…_ moving in front of her. Something enormous, larger than life, with glowing basketball-sized citrine eyes focused on her through the sea of endless shadows. _Run_ , instincts told her, and she didn't need to be told a third time. In the space of minutes, her paradise had been transformed into a nightmare. Where had her lover gone?

Her run didn't last long. She managed to trample a flower bed, trip over a tree root, and corner herself crawling and hiding in a curled tight little ball against the trunk. Her breaths were kept short and quiet in desperation to conceal herself from the mystery monster though she feared it would hear what seemed like a deafeningly loud heartbeat to the terrified girl. This _couldn't_ be him. It _couldn't_ be.

She remembered a vivid flash of red and screams of agony, scales wrapping all around her, the way she didn't sleep a wink that first night with the crashing and shattering of all of her parents' belongings.

_No._ Her head shook, little hands clasping over her ears to quiet silent accusations. He wasn't a monster. _He wasn't._


	13. Chapter 13

It was easier to just give in to the energy he called up. He gave her fair warning. What happened now was up to her. The instincts to hunt were too strong and his form had slipped so smoothly with almost no thought. She took off like a shot‒ little bunny indeed‒ and he let her create distance. Wouldn't do to catch her too quickly. Ruins the suspense of the hunt.

The smell of her fear and feel of her frantic pulse in this dead place excited him in ways he couldn't explain. He could smell blood. Poor lil' bunny, she must have scratched herself in her mad dash away from him. Sightless prey wasn't as entertaining a hunt as he hoped. She took a fairly straight path through the foliage before huddling at the base of a tree in little to no cover.

His scales slid over the moist ground with a dull hiss. The rolling bulk of his muscle moved with more grace and ease than should have been expected of a snake his size. Carefully he wound a roll of coils around her waist and lifted her up over his head, bringing her face inches from his. A cool forked tongue flicked over her tear-streaked face.

"Are ya sssssscared, Bunny?" It came out as a coughing hiss rather than his usual gravelly purr, "I thought we were playin' gamessss, Lydsssss... but ya don't sssssseem to be havin' fun."

* * *

As if summoned by her thoughts, ropes of scale descended to trap her. She could feel herself moving bodily through the air, the scent of her fear peaking before he spoke again. _Bunny._ That's what he had called her before, right?

It _was_ him. He was the monster. The revelation was equal parts relieving and horrifying. Pain and fear had sobered Lydia, ripped away all the magic and beauty of the evening. Her knee and elbow were scraped from the fall, hands soil-stained and a shallow cut on her bicep bleeding freely. Adrenalin kept her ignorant of the wounds for the time being.

…

A game?

Was this really all just a game for him? He was good enough to leave her arms free. They shook as she held him, her horrified countenance locked on his, unable to look anywhere other than those hypnotizing yellow orbs. They were close enough for her to make out slitted predatory pupils.

She knew this monster. They had met once before, and not on much better terms than this. At least that had been on Lydia's turf. Here, she was truly at his mercy.

"You _are_ scaring me," she agreed finally, having taken a long time to find her voice. What she said was proven further when a forked tongue stroked her tear-stained cheek and a heartwrenching whimper crawled up her throat. "I didn't‒ I didn't know we were playing a… a _game…_ "

She was miffed and upset and sad and hopeful all at once, a fat helping of _fear_ keeping her from displaying any particular emotion with prolonged intensity. Even as far as he had gone just now, she was willing to let it slide if it really was just… _a game_. After all, he wasn't the most socially apt creature.

"P-promise you're n-not mad at me…?"

* * *

She was shaking, and the fear was coming off of her in delicious waves. It made him shudder, his long scaly body shivering. He could smell fresh blood, but not a concerning amount.

" _You are scaring me."_

Good. He wanted her scared and hurting. He loosened the coil around her middle and let her drop another inch, tongue flicking around her tasting the air. He could feel her pulse against his coils, awakening a dark hunger deep down in the pit that used to house his soul.

" _P-promise you're n-not mad at me…?"_

"Mad at you, sssssweetsss?"

He wasn't mad, he was _livid_. His chest still ached and he wanted nothing more than to do horrible things to his sweet little lover. His voice was calm when he answered her, and it was sounding more like his normal voice. His tongue glided along her face again. That hunger had started to rise, and he knew in this form he wouldn't be able to control himself at all.

Moving very slowly and carefully, he set his little Bunny on the ground on both feet. His long snake body started to writhe in on itself, loops of thickly muscled scales rolling in on top of itself. The more the coils piled on top of one another the more compact his form got. Finally, he stood there in his stripes, eyes glowing in the twilight.

An instant later he was on his knees in front of her, her arm in his cool hands, his long inhuman tongue running along the edge of her freely bleeding wound. Once he cleaned the blood from her skin he latched his mouth over her wound sucking for a moment before moving for her mouth. Only the effort was put into his body to make it seem nearly human.

He had her face cupped between his hands and kissed her rough, forcing his tongue into her mouth, sharing the fresh warm copper taste of her blood. He let out a throaty groan into her mouth. One hand moved down her body to lift up the voluminous pile of skirts, the other ripped the bodice of her gown so that his hand could slip inside to cup at the globe of her breast. Every movement was rough and uncontrolled, the noises coming from him more and more animalistic as they continued on. A large cold hand moved to her naked core, fingers running along her folds, thumb stroking her clit.

* * *

For brief moments, Lydia was planted on uneasy feet again. It was a miracle she didn't fall flat on her ass from the abrupt displacement, the way he kept manhandling her. Alas, it was only seconds before he was on her again, grabbing her from out of nowhere. She cried out in surprise but his grip was true and held her in place through her squirming and struggling for something long, cold, and slimy‒ _a tongue‒_ to crawl a disgusting, slithering trail up her arm.

When an equally frigid, leech-like attachment she vaguely recognized as his mouth latched onto a stinging wound she didn't realize she had, she _screamed_. He was sucking too hard, and it _hurt_.

"Stop! _Betelgeuse!"_

That was the first time she had said his name since summoning him. It was meant as a warning but the poltergeist was deaf to it‒ or quite the opposite. He was quick afterward to shove his tongue still wet with her blood down her throat. She gagged and pushed, but he was persistent, forcing her to _swallow_ much the same way he had another organ earlier that night. A thumb pressing maddening circles on her clit helped matters some.

Her lower lips were traitorously slick, making an easy glide for his fat, calloused fingers. They didn't pierce or penetrate though and had yet to in any way that would rupture her maidenhead. The way he stroked her now, sweet and delicately in this one sacred place while rough and biting in others, Lydia imagined he was saving it for something.

_Marriage_.

The thought blew her eyes wide open. She had long since adjusted to the tongue down her throat and was breathing steadily through her nostrils. Short, blunt fingernails dug into his neck and shoulder‒ almost an attack but not quite. If she lashed out and scratched, it probably would have just turned him on more. His hard-on was thick and heavy against her belly, ready to go again so soon after she serviced him.

She came for him embarrassingly quickly, coating his fingers in ever more slick. He didn't have to work half as hard to get her off as she did him‒ and she was _fighting it._ It wasn't fair. Fresh tears joined drying saliva on her cheeks as she choked her forced pleasure on his tongue. Finally, the beast sated by his taking of an orgasm, she was allotted the freedom to speak, the tongue slithering up and out of her throat to make its way down her neck.

"Please don't," she begged, worried that he had lost himself entirely and meant to take her for himself fully. She didn't want her first time to be like this, tainted by anger and fear and sadness.

"I _love_ you… don't do this…"

* * *

She came so easily for him, the lust, blood, and terror doing a lot to sate that dark hunger left in the absence of his soul. He almost felt like he climaxed with her, his body shuddering softly against her. As he kissed and bit his way down her neck he pulled energy around him, allowing his body some semblance of humanity again. His fingers working her easier with the added lubrication. His hand and arm pulling her in closer. He relished her warmth spreading from where their skin made contact and from the blood he stole from her.

He dragged his tongue along her collarbone, and his hips had started to grind into her when he noted she was talking. Before, all he'd been able to hear was her pulse and the low vibrating hum that was just part of the Neitherworld.

_"I love you… don't do this… "_

He froze, eyes rolling up to her face. He rose from her chest and pressed soft kisses along her abused lips, his thumb working her clit softy, fingers still coxing.

"I love ya too, baby-girl," his lips were gentle against hers and he was trying to make eye contact. "Don't do what sweets?"

He pressed one more soft kiss to her mouth before moving them so her back was pressed to the tree she'd hidden beneath. Back on his knees in front of her, he pulled one and then the other of her delicate legs over his shoulders. Leaning in, he ran his tongue along her slick folds, taking time to stop and suckle at her clit until he could feel her writhing above him. Hands moving to support her cheeks, he pressed his mouth to her lower lips in a long passionate kiss with just an edge of pain to it.

* * *

"Don't‒ Don't‒"

Bark scraped her back, adding to her growing litany of injuries. _He loved her_. That's the only thought that stuck. Along with his sudden tenderness, it killed the protests bubbling up her throat, the ones previously suffocated by his tongue. His hands were solid and insistent where her legs were weak, malleable. She did not particularly want to be suspended this way but found herself there when he hoisted her thighs onto his shoulders effortlessly.

Broad hands found her bottom, taking a cheek each and squeezing indulgently while his mouth sought out her oversensitive, still pulsing core. He proceeded to do what he wanted with her. Her ass cheeks were clenched and squeezed until bruises would surely form while he _devoured_. That tongue that Lydia _knew_ was capable of striking deeper purposely teased and pushed at the barrier marking her virginity, making sure she would feel it.

One tip of the forked appendage managed to slip past a little crevice and go deeper, the rest of it massaging her clit in rhythm to her dangerously paced heartbeat. Again, he delivered earth-shattering pleasure that turned Lydia's world on its axis. Were it not for his greedy grip keeping her all to himself, she would have fallen and earned another blemish on that luminous complexion. She pulled his hair, little thighs squeezing his cheeks, slim hips bucking to get away from the hyperstimulation.

"Beej," she whined, thoroughly punished. The poor thing could only take so much. "I can't! _Please!"_

* * *

She was begging again, and he loved it. He worked quickly to wring one more orgasm from her tiny body. Then he had her cradled in his arms, his back to the tree. He was kissing her again, little sweet pecks on her face, the bottom half of his own slick with her, her wetness and blood.

She may have turned him down but she said she loved him! It made him giddy. Drunk. That bitch from before had never said that and he had been ready to give her everything. Now his little mortal, she made him miss the softer parts of himself he lost over the centuries. He truly would give her everything, she just needed to agree to… she would, fuck she said she loved him. He didn't understand what was holding her back. He was good enough to fuck around with but not marry? He supposed with the spell… no. No, he would get her to agree. He loved her and she loved him. He could make her see.

His erection was throbbing in his slacks, pressed as close as it could get to her ass. Lifting her out of the way he got his slacks open and his hard cock popped free pressing against her. He let out a shaky breath as his sensitive flesh hit the air. Smelling her fear again and the way her little body tensed to pull away from him pulled a rough laugh from his chest.

"I ain't gonna use it on ya yet love." It came as a low growl. His fingers were in the silky curls of hair again. "Fuck, I love ya, n' I don't wanna break ya. Help me out, baby-girl?"

He maneuvered her so she was sitting on her bottom on one of his thighs. He took hold of his cock and gave himself two good pumps, letting out a grunt. He moved her hands in to help him. At the feel of her warmth on his coolness he let out a shuddering breath and a groan. His eyes slipped shut, his head dropped back against the tree. The hand in her hair moved to her back, big hand massaging, the other helping her to work his length.

* * *

Something about being cradled in his lap again and on the receiving end of sweet pecking kisses made her forget all about how mad at him she was just a couple minutes ago. _How scared_. Then, his cock was out and pressing against her without any warning or permission and she remembered.

"Wait‒!"

_"I ain't gonna use it on ya yet love."_ His fingers were tangled in her hair, tugging pleasantly, and Lydia's whine to get away turned into a sweet whimper, her face finding and hiding against his neck.

_"Help me out baby-girl?"_

So now he was asking? She didn't _not_ want to, but she also didn't feel she had much of a choice as he guided her hands between his legs to caress and pet over his weeping erection. Lydia could feel his larger fist flying along the shaft with a speed and grip she _knew_ she couldn't pull off, her more delicate hands deferring to sliding precum all along the head, to petting the fat, hairy sack of flesh beneath the shaft.

The closer he got to his peak, the better Lydia felt. Everything was okay. She was just being a baby and freaking out over nothing.

It was just a game.

* * *

He leaned in to nuzzle at her neck as their combined hands worked his throbbing length. Again her soft touches had him worked up more than a boy with his first handy. He wasn't going to last long, he knew that going in. Now with her hot little hands trembling over his head and sack, the time he expected was cut in half. He could feel the drying blood around his mouth flake off against her neck as he pressed kisses along the big vein there.

When her little hand teased his tip again his hips bucked up. He picked up the pace of his own movements. He had one more surprise for her and he was hoping the impromptu bunny hunt hadn't lost them too much time.

"Just like that, baby-doll." He growled into her curls, unnecessary breaths coming in short pants. A deep throaty grown crawling from him. "I got one more surprise for you tonight," his voice was staggered with lust and pleasure, "just as soon as…"

The words were cut off as he made another growling moaning noise. His hips bucked against their hands, then he spilled his seed over them. He relaxed into the tree again, his clean hand moving back to her curls, pulling her against his chest and he huffed and shuddered.

He kissed her forehead and let out a wheezy chuckle as he conjured a cigarette. Her fingers trailing through her hair.

"Thanks sweets, that was wonderful," removing the cigarette from his lips he leaned in to plant a soft sweet kiss on her swollen abused lips.

* * *

"You _scared_ me."

He seemed apologetic enough despite the complete lack of apologies given. Several orgasms deep, claws gentle in her hair, and cool lips soft on her forehead, it was difficult to find and hold onto the same rage and indignation she had found before.

"But… I guess it was… _kind of_ fun…"

Everything was so much better _before_ and Lydia was eager to get back to that. He said he had another surprise, and by no means was Lydia ready to go back home yet… if ever. That woman wanted to send her away, and her father wasn't fighting as hard as he used to. Was there even a home for her to go back to?

These were problems for tomorrow. Tonight's problem was still wet on her ruined dress.

"I'm a mess."

She didn't need sight to know. Where she began the night luminous and unblemished, her starlight gown was tattered, grass and blood-stained, hair mussed and fallen out, flesh scraped and bruised. Actually… she fit in perfectly for the Neitherworld, looking very much like a freshly raped corpse waking tragic and disheveled in the afterlife.

"I _do_ love you."

It seemed important to reiterate not in the heat of the moment. Additionally, she still felt a need to appease him, still felt that he was wounded somehow and hiding it from her.

"I know I'm young, and I've never done… _any_ of this before, but… I do. I know it. I just _know_." Frowning now, she poked him hard in the chest, chastising. "So stop scaring me! That wasn't nice!"

* * *

_"I'm a mess "_

He blew a stream of smoke away from her face and grunted his acknowledgment, fingers picking at tangles in her hair.

"Don't fret over that. Yer beautiful, n' I can take care of the dress."

It wouldn't take any energy to put her back to the glory she'd been at the beginning of the night but for now, he was content to just sit with her.

_"I do love you."_

That horrific ache in his chest eased at her saying it again. His mood was considerably better now than it had been, but he was still upset she turned him down again.

"I love ya too, baby-doll." It was tainted with… was it heartache? No, no it wasn't. He did feel like shit, though. The voice from before was back, whispering how he wasn't good enough and how she would see him for the monster he was.

" _So stop scaring me! That wasn't nice!"_

A warm little finger thumped into his chest, jolting him from his dark thoughts. Staring at her wide-eyed countenance, he grinned. _Cute._ He loved it when she thought she could boss him. He could feel the lust trying to crawl back up but shoved it down.

"Don't know if ya noticed, lover mine, but I ain't especially nice," kissing her softly, he sighed, "but I didn't intend ta…"

But he had intended to. He wanted her hurt and scared and upset. At the moment, it had been exactly what he wanted. But now, he wasn't so sure. He hated to see the trails her sad tears had left on her dirty little face. It made the spot on his chest ache and his stomach knot.

"Can ya stand up, babe?"

He helped her to stand, then stood as if pulled by strings. His hand softly taking hers and pulling her through a slow spin, as if they were dancing. His energy buzzed along her skin, all her wounds wrapped in clean bandages. Her dress mending and righting itself. Her hair gathered back up into the lovely updo from before, this time more lilies hid among her silvery curls. The exposed bandages on her hands were hidden with small lace kid gloves‒ fingerless, so she could still touch and see with her hands. The larger wrap on her bicep was disguised with a thick silver cuff. Her face was clean and fresh, he couldn't do anything for the visible bruises, but he really didn't want to either.

He flicked away his cigarette. Then righted his own appearance, still his ghostly striped gloy, and scooped her up bridal style pressing a kiss to her cheek as they disappeared from the Neitherworld.

He pulled them back into existence, and it was dark and quiet and smelled of far off incense. His steps had an echoing quality as he cuddled her against his chest and strode across the vast space. When he stopped he set her lightly on her feet to check his watch. Right on time. He placed her hand on the cool stone wall. His hand resting on her bare shoulder, he was watching the hands tick down on the cracked watch face.

He pressed three fingers into her shoulder, then two, and one, and the bells of Notre Dame began to toll the midnight hour.

* * *

Would she ever get used to the way he hauled her around without warning? Her entire life, Lydia had been forced to traverse with baby steps and gentle caresses, her touch mapping the way of the world. Betelgeuse didn't have patience for all of that, more often than not deferring to just carrying her wherever his long legs felt like stomping. She supposed it did make things faster and easier, but the stomach-dropping sensation of not knowing where she was never failed to make fear spike her scent just a little, make her clutch at him needfully.

Bells sounded clear through the air, swallowing her sharp startled gasp of surprise, and Lydia knew immediately where they were.

_He loved her. He did_.

The enormity of where she stood kept her grounded. Never before had she simultaneously felt so _small_ and so _big_ at once. The bell chimes hung in the air for long moments, fading into the soft breaths of life Lydia provided the space‒ the only other sound. The outside world was deafened from here. There were cars on the streets and passersby, even this late, but their noise was canceled out and nonexistent.

Lydia and Betelgeuse were always in their own personal bubble when they were together, but now it was as though that bubble had pulled itself from nonexistence and solidified to give them just that much more time alone…

Before it had to end. As all things must.

The silence carried on, filled only with echoes of her breathing. Anxiety pooled in her stomach with each passing moment. It had been a whim to suggest coming here, the thought of _singing_ in a place like this where the walls would bounce her voice and sing back to her was novel and exciting‒ but it had been just that. A thought. The reality of being here with her terrifying, short-tempered, wonderful lover and giving him a song was not as glamorous as it was in her imagination.

Still, she had to indulge just a little while she was here. Her lips dropped. A single testing note filled the air, clear and pure. As short and sweet as the sound was, it carried and rang around them as if she had just rung her own personal bell. Lydia couldn't help but _beam_ listening to it, her own voice ringing back at her.

"Okay," she whispered low, respectful of the power of this space and how it amplified everything, "we can go now. That's all I wanted. Unless _you_ want to stay…?"

* * *

When he noticed she was completely hypnotized by the bells he decided to give her a little space. He stepped to a nearby pew and slumped into it, a lit cigarette appearing in his lips. He made sure he was still close enough she'd be able to find him easily if she turned around.

He watched as the joy of it all lit her face and played across her features as she listened. He wasn't sure in all his years he had ever met someone who listened like her. He'd experienced Notre Dame a number of times both while alive and dead. Been here, done this, didn't care enough to get a t-shirt. But now he was a little disappointed that he didn't experience this in the same way she was.

When she let out the one long note, it touched him in the core of his being, thawing something that had been dead and frozen long ago. He leaned forward, ashing his cigarette, and licked his lips.

" _Okay… we can go now. That's all I wanted. Unless you want to stay…?"_

"The one note's all I get, baby-girl?" He leaned back into his seat, kicking his legs out in front of him crossed at the ankles, eyes glowing nearly as brightly as the cherry from his cigarette. "If I gotta be yer Phantom of the Opera, ya can at least sing ta me like the Angel of Music."

* * *

_Oh no_.

Lydia burned up from the inside out‒ with embarrassment this time. She shouldn't have done that. Now he knew that she liked singing and he was going to want to _listen_ to her sing and _oh god, this was not good_. Singing was something private she didn't share with anyone. She liked her voice. It was high and clear and _attention-getting_ , precisely the reason she kept her mouth shut in choir at school and just took the F.

It would only be another thing to make her stand out, drag negative attention. Regardless, just because Lydia liked her voice when she was singing in solitude did not mean she knew if it was any good. What if Betelgeuse hated it? She couldn't bear the thought of him hating her singing. It would break her heart.

Crimson-faced, she pressed her back to the stone and sought out glowing eyes through the dark.

"Okay…" She hushed her agreement, grave and serious as if negotiating the exchange of her soul. "But‒ but you _can't_ make fun of me. Or‒ or I'll be really upset."

_Very threatening, Lydia._ Turning so that his glowing gaze was no longer in her limited field of vision, she took several deep breaths in preparation. They were ineffective. This was a fair price he asked in turn for everything else they had done that night, really, but the fairness and obligation of the matter didn't make performing any easier.

The song that eventually burst forth from her lips came from another time, but not the one this cathedral belonged to. It was meant to keep a simple piano accompaniment that allowed for the indulgent, imperfect rhythm of a jazz singer. The acapella version made for a decidedly eerie twist.

_"I don't know how it done happened,  
The devil caught me nappin',  
He must have come without a-rappin',  
_ _Without a-rappin' on my door,"_

Lydia took her time, giving herself ample breath control to keep her tone smooth, acutely aware of her audience of one.

_"And he done took me flirtin',  
_ _My honey, you can be certain,_  
_I didn't mean to go hurtin',  
_ _And I ain't gonna any more..."_


	14. Chapter 14

Betelgeuse perched his cigarette on his lips and laced his fingers together behind his head, posture relaxed. He puffed on the cigarette, the smoke curling out his nostrils. He could still smell her fear, could see the color that rose in her face.

" _But‒ but you can't make fun of me. Or‒ or I'll be really upset."_

"Doll, you wound me," he spoke around the filter clenched in his teeth, "I wouldn't ask jus' ta make fun o' ya."

She was quiet long enough that he almost prompted her but then she let out her first few notes and he froze. It was that stillness from the garden, something only the older dead could do. Here was another glorious part of her that she kept from everyone. If she was hesitant to sing for him, surely she didn't for others. Though, he should have guessed she would have a beautiful singing voice, he heard her offer her cries to the skies enough times.

It was an interesting choice of piece. It could have just been a song she liked. The girl liked older music. Or did she choose it because of the subject? Did she see him as the devil? That thought made his chest clench. Dropping that train of thought, he just focused on listening, like how Lydia listened to the bells.

While she sang, his jaw went lax, letting his still burning cigarette fall to his jacked and roll to rest near the crotch of his slacks. He was so invested in Lydia's performance that he didn't notice the smoke or heat until it touched his skin. Letting out a surprised hiss, he plucked the burning stub from the ruin of his slacks. Flicking away the butt, he returned his attention back to his girl.

She was going to finish the song, and ask to go home. To that fucking house on the hill. She seemed just as trapped there as he was. He wanted to free her from that. When she finished, he sent out energy to help guide her to his waiting arms.

* * *

When she sang, it was everything she thought it would be‒ except for the pit of nerves in her belly making her break into a cold sweat. The notes bounced back and forth and all around continuously, sounding as though a choir of herself was singing in perfect harmonious canon. When she stopped, the choir kept going.

For long seconds, she could hear herself singing back and was struck breathless. _She_ had made that angelic sound? That was coming from _her_? An invisible force pulled her forward, knocking her from her stupor. Familiar arms caught her, ready to receive her weight after knocking her so off balance. No one spoke until it was quiet again, save her breaths.

"You need to warn me before doing that," she flustered, not actually expecting him to listen.

He had not spoken yet but she wasn't nearly as nervous or self-conscious as before. How could she be after hearing it for herself? Far from arrogant, she was humbled by her apparent gift and savored his silence for what it was. _Praise_. She, and not death, was the cause for his breathlessness at the moment.

When she thought he'd had enough time, she leaned up on her tippy-toes to breach the space between them and kiss where she approximated his mouth was‒ _and she got it right!_ It made her beam as she pulled back. That's the first time she managed to guess right without his hands there guiding the way.

"Thank you for a beautiful night…"

It wasn't over yet, but this felt like the beginning of an ending.

"I'm getting tired, Beej. Do you want to… go somewhere and uhm… _get a room_ or something…?"

* * *

_"You need to warn me before doing that,"_

This time he used more force than he meant to. Next time, he would be more delicate with her. Not that he would tell her that. He did hum a quiet agreement against her neck where he tucked her face after she came to him. Pressing a kiss to her soft skin, he leaned back, enveloped in the echoes of her voice. His mind was still caught in the vanishing reverberations when she kissed him. _She_ kissed him. Not in the throes of passion, not because he kissed her first.

"That was… Lyds, I don't have words," he pressed another kiss to her lips. "You should sing more. I like it when ya sing."

" _Thank you for a beautiful night…"_

"Don't think on it, baby-girl," he toyed with one of the long loose curls along her face, "We could do this all the time, darlin', all ya have to do is say the word."

If she said yes she could have everything, anything. He would pull the fucking moon to earth for her. He was glad that Juno hadn't caught on yet, though knowing it was only a matter of time, he was starting to get antsy. If that old hag called him back, he would never get back to this. He would never make it back to Lydia. So many rules had been broken since she came to live in that house. The relations with her, the living, weren't necessarily forbidden but they didn't endear him to anyone on the other side.

He had murdered a man and would do it over a hundred times if it meant that she never looked like she did on that day again. He wasn't supposed to do any of the magics he had with her, not to mention taking her to the Netherworld. He didn't regret that either but the living in the land of the dead? Huge no-no.

" _I'm getting tired, Beej. Do you want to… go somewhere and uhm… get a room or something…?"_

That made his chest clench. She hadn't asked him to take her back to the fucking house on the hill. She wanted to get a room. She wanted to get a room with him. That meant she wanted more with him. Not to forget that she said she loved him several times this evening without coercion. He let out a shaky breath and ran his hands up and down her arms.

"Bunny, I'd love nothing more…" he licked his lips and stepped her back slightly, then slid from his spot on the pew to kneel before her, holding her hands in his.

"Lyds, Lydia my love, please, please say you'll marry me."

He was staring at her hands clasped in his, knowing that as far back as he was she wouldn't see him anyway. His hands shook slightly holding hers.

* * *

Her scent spiked again in that way he loved but this time it didn't hit quite the same. This was very familiar to Lydia. They had been here before, done this. Only now was the pattern clear. His frightful mood swings came right after she rejected one of his proposals.

Once she understood, it _hurt_. Didn't he love her like he said? Trust came with love, she thought.

"In the garden…"

The whisper hung like death over their heads, waiting for its giver to complete the thought.

"... that wasn't a 'game'."

She wasn't asking a question. Again, her too small hands shook within his. He wanted to _scare_ her into saying yes? Bully her into being his wife? What a great romance! _A lovely story to tell their children_. That bleak thought inspired a cross between a laugh and a sob, the horrible sound riding the acoustics and preceding a third and final…

"No, Betelgeuse."

Rage and singular sadness were stronger than fear now that she understood what he was doing. She loved him, God help her, but he was a _bad man._ To love him, for Lydia, was to not enable behaviors that contributed to that. He would be angry, she knew. He might even hurt her. Hurt someone else. But he could _not_ be allowed to have his way here. That was how Lydia would show him her love.

"I'm not saying never… but I am saying no. Here. Right now. To you. _No_."

* * *

Thrice he asked, and thrice he was rejected.

No sooner than the word left her lips he dropped her hands and moved several staggering steps back. The pews around them started to shudder and shake. He wouldn't slip into the snake, wouldn't allow it. He couldn't guarantee her safety in that form, even though he knew the lack of restraint would dull the pain. That's what happened everytime she said no. It was pain. Not like with the curse, no, this made that seem like nothing.

The pews flew against the walls on either side of the large sanctuary. Candelabra and small furniture began to float and circle around them. He had his hands up over his ears, his head lowered.

"No, no, no…" It was barely a whisper, then his head snapped up and he had her by the uninjured bicep, instantly there at her side to jerk her around so that she was facing him.

"WHY?!" The rage, pain and panic in the one word hit like a slap. "Good enough to take ya places, good enough to be in yer bed, good enough to KILL A MAN?! But I ain't enough to be yer HUSBAND?!" The bells high above them started to resonate with the amount of energy he was just bleeding off. "Do ya have any idea how many rules I've broken for you!?"

His breaths were heaving, spirit pulsing. He didn't even have enough control to peel away his humanity. It was just pain. Had it been normal pain, he would have been able to move past it. Had it been just the rage again, he would have been able to push through‒ but that layer of panic, of knowing he didn't want to be separated from her, and knowing it was only a matter of time before Juno realised he'd found another loop hole brought it all to a head. At this point the thought of exorcism didn't even bother him. The notion of losing her forever was all consuming.

"Three fucking times," his voice was evening out as he scrabbled for control. The bells above them were swinging back and forth not yet ringing.

* * *

She could feel Notre Dame crumbling around her, the bells above weeping from the calamity, but stood her ground with resolve. He got a fraction of a flinch when he shouted in her face like that, but Lydia had steeled herself. _She knew bullies_. That's what he was at his core, when he wasn't being charming and thoughtful and sweet and everything else that she loved. He was a bully.

Her expression remained mostly stoic if pinched with emotion, but tears fell freely as he tore into her just like she knew he would. With the patience of a saint, Lydia endured his blustering until it seemed he was finally out of things to say.

_"Three fucking times."_

"The first time, I thought you were joking."

It was cruel but honest, and he deserved the truth unfiltered.

"The second time, I told you why. I don't think you even heard me. The next thing I knew, I was running for my life."

Now, she knew that her life was never in danger but at the time it had been traumatic and terrifying. How quickly she was to forgive him for toying with her safety and emotions that recklessly.

"This time? This time I said no because I knew you would do _this_."

She tried to shake him off in a dramatic gesture, but his grip was too strong, making her snarl and huff before giving up and accepting that this was where he wanted her and she wasn't going anywhere.

"I _love_ you." Clearly, he needed to hear it again. "I even love this… this _evil_ part of you. Because it's _you_ , and I don't think you know any better, honestly. But... you're not going to use it to bully me."

Again, stubborn to a fault‒ he was a bad influence on her‒ she dug her point in.

"I am _not_ marrying you, Betelgeuse. Not tonight, not tomorrow, not three days from now."

He could try his luck again in a week after they had made up and her parents had given her even more reasons to want to move out‒ as if she needed any.

"Now take me home. I'm tired."

* * *

" _The first time, I thought you were joking."_

That made him stiffen. Then, he was just gone from her side. He didn't move far, maybe a few feet away, but he might as well have been on the dark side of the moon. He had gone still again. All the energy he cast out into the cathedral drew back to him. He was listening to her, truly listening but he hated everything she had to say. It all came back to how he wasn't enough. He hadn't been enough for the bitch before, he wasn't enough now. But if he just stayed here like this… it was quiet, it didn't hurt so much.

" _I love you… I even love this… this evil part of you. Because it's you, and I don't think you know any better, honestly. But... you're not going to use it to bully me."_

She said it again. He was right earlier, about the song choice. She did see him as some big evil. His eyes slid shut as he stood there and pulled all his energy back, every item he displaced snapping back into its original position in a moment. He felt like he was suffocating, even though he hadn't needed to breathe since this building was in its early centuries. Taking several shaky breaths he turned to look back in her direction. Earlier she'd said not now, not tonight. Again here in this echo chamber, she said it again. Time wasn't on his side but he needed her willing, and apparently, if he kept this up, that would be never.

" _Now take me home. I'm tired."_

"Fine."

The word was clipped and harsh but it was his voice. No extra growl or hiss. Just him. He strode over to her and grabbed her hand. Back to the fucking house on the fucking hill. As soon as her fingers touched his, they were gone, the cathedral left in the same shape as when they arrived.

In the blink of an eye, he was depositing her in the center of the living room. He made all of the lights flicker out more out of habit at this point rather than out of any kindness. In the gloom of the living room,, Lydia stood in all her shimmering glory, and he stood next to her, hands in pockets of his striped suit.

Then the screaming started.

* * *

Foolishly, Lydia had assumed he would bring her back to her bedroom discreetly so that he could help her out of her dress and finery and they could talk some more, squash this, maybe cuddle or fool around some more. Wasn't that a grand thought?

Instead, Lydia found she and her ghoul dropped smack dab in a populated area of the house. She didn't know where exactly, but voices started sounding as soon as her feet touched solid ground and before the lights flickered off. Shocked screams first, then two deafening _BANGS_ , back to back‒ gunshots.

"Lydia! That's her, she's here! _My baby!_ "

_"WHAT IS THAT THING! KILL IT!_ _**KILL IT** _ _!"_

Two more male voices were shouting over her parents. The police? She hadn't even been gone twenty-four hours! A healthy chunk of her thought they wouldn't even notice. She didn't know that this was how it happened, but the panicked gunshots of incompetent policemen missed her entirely, both shells phasing right through her ghoulish, irate lover. All Lydia knew was confusion and overwhelm.

It was too loud. She didn't know where she was‒ living room or dining room or the foyer, they could be anywhere on the first floor. Maybe even upstairs. She sought out his hand through the labyrinth of dark and cacophony of disorienting sound, squeezing hard for comfort and hoping that he wasn't too mad at her to reject the request.

Then again, it was _he_ that brought them here this way. This was done on purpose. He wanted a show. Still, she squeezed, because she loved him and at that moment, he was all she had.

* * *

When he dropped them in the living room he hadn't anticipated being shot. Two rounds hit him in the chest just missing Lydia. The energy he bottled up at the cathedral boiled out of him. Her soft touch on his hand tempered his reaction. When she squeezed his hand, he pulled her in against his chest, shielding her from what he was about to do. His anger and pain from earlier feeding into this atmosphere.

He laughed. Not the soft chuckles his little lover was used to. It was loud and violent and promised bad things to come. The entire structure of the house was shaking. Hideous wallpaper peeled and the walls beneath bled. With the arm not anchored around the girl, his girl, he gestured and it threw the men who shot him across the room, the force of it knocking them unconscious. He turned his attention to her parents and with a nod of this head they were both strung up as if being hung. Toes were only just barely able to touch the floor so they didn't suffocate.

He didn't feel like playing spook for these mortals. This wasn't how he hoped the evening was going to end at all. Especially not back at this fucking house. He looked down to pick at the bullet holes in his jacket.

"They shot me, Lydia, n' now they are gonna try an' take ya away." There wasn't much emotion in the words, just facts. A dark barking laugh left him. "They'll try… "

* * *

Lydia had her rebellious moments, like earlier that night when in a period of emotional duress she made the decision to run away for a romantic night with her lover, just the two of them. Delia probably knew this side of her better than anyone, herself most often the target of the girl's ire. Lydia never got nastier than a snide comment here or there, or a flash of an unflattering candid moment with her polaroid.

At her core, she wanted everyone to know love and happiness. Even Delia. Even her father. Especially Betelgeuse.

She never heard the end of the eavesdropped conversation that led to her running away. Her father might've changed Delia's mind. They had the police here and were worried about her, _looking_ for her. That meant they cared, right? There was something good and redeemable and worth loving there.  
 _  
"They shot me Lydia, and now they are gonna try an' take ya away."_

"No," her head was shaking, trying to make sense of it all, even as her fingers traced the damning bullet holes. Panic climbed by the moment. She could hear them choking and feared for their lives.

"No, they didn't mean it, they're just scared. They won't!"

Who was she trying to convince really?

_"Ly‒di‒a‒"_

It was her father, gasping her name as if it was his last breath. Lydia lunged in the direction of his voice, desperate to help, but was stuck in place.

"No!"She fought back hard, hurting herself in the process as she couldn't possibly match up to his strength. "BETELGEUSE, BETELGEUSE, BETELGEUSE!"

* * *

She said his name, said it thrice‒ and nothing happened. No pain, no being pushed into the twilight between the land of the living and death. He let out another laugh, this one sounding pained. She was spun around, her back to his chest, his hand at her throat. Not squeezing, just holding, lips to her ear.

"Ya can't just put me away when yer tired o' me anymore, Love… " the last word came out as a snarl, "n' if ya get one of the other breathers to say it, yer comin' with."

He tapped the spot on his chest where she had pressed her bleeding hand. Slashing his hand in the direction of her parents, they collapsed to the ground gasping for air.

"They'll be fine," he spat and shoved her towards them, "I may be a monster, babes, but I know yer rules."

He shook himself like a dog and rolled his shoulders. Stretching his neck, he tugged his suit jacket straight, ridding it of bullet holes. A cigarette appeared in his mouth, the ember glowing dim, outshone by his eyes.

"The bastards that shot me? Ima make 'em bleed. Then, the real fun'll start."

His voice was all business. He wanted chaos and carnage, he would get it. She wanted two breathers spared, he could grant that. Moving toward the unconscious cops on the far side of the room, he gestured to have them hung upside down in front of him. Waiting for them to come around, he lazily blowed smoke into the room.

* * *

He shoved her and she fell. Taking no time at all to right herself or even react to the aggravation to her already skinned knee from such a hard fall, she crawled in all her glamor and jewels across the floor toward the sound of the gasping, whimpering Deetzes.

"Daddy," she cried, calling him something she hadn't since she was a little girl. "Daddy, are you _okay?_ I'm sorry, I'm so _so_ sorry…"

She found his hand, his head, patting him lightly to check for injuries while he coughed and hacked and tried to pull himself together. He was squeezing her hand back‒ maybe in reassurance, maybe out of reflex from the violent coughing fit. Delia, not having been a smoker for two decades like her husband, caught her breath first.

_"Get away from him!"_

Lydia was pushed back, her head hitting the hardwood with a painful _thud_. Her stepmother was in survival mode and had already categorized Lydia as a _threat_ , the way her sleeping subconscious had a long time ago. The vicious redhead crouched over her territory, _her husband_ , protectively. Charles was _hers_ and she wouldn't be losing him to expensive escorts, dead wives, uppity teenage daughters, or malevolent spirits.

"I _knew_ it was you," she hissed like an animal, blue eyes flickering between the girl she didn't recognize garbed in starlight and the hideous apparition she brought with her, the one responsible for all this destruction.

"That _bitch_ mother of yours should have _taken you with her!"_

* * *

It wasn't fun to peel unconscious bodies. They didn't squirm, or cry, or beg. Still when the men hadn't woken as quickly as he liked he got impatient and started anyway. The pain should wake the men. His hands were slick with blood as he peeled a thick swath of skin from a torso when the fucking harpy started up. At first, he ignored her. Lydia could take whatever that glorified whore of a woman had to say.

" _That bitch mother of yours should have taken you with her!"_

Until she said that. He turned to see the pain in Lydia's face and realized her stepmother had caused her both physical and emotional pain. He didn't move to the women huddled across the room but he did flick the worst of the blood from his fingers and snap them.

Delia was jerked around and magically pinned to the floor. Not unlike a virgin sacrifice from any old B list movie about Devil worship. Her voice was stolen as well. He wasn't even going to allow her to beg, or scream.

Slowly he moved to them, ignoring Charles for the most part with the knowledge that aside from a good scare that man was off limits to his rage. But this redheaded bitch, he could have some real fun with her. He squatted down over the woman, his arms bloody to the elbow resting on his knees, a long trail of ash barely clinging to the end of his cigarette.

"Ya know, Deeelia," he spoke around the butt in his teeth, "death ain't a great place for suicides, but ya know what they do to murderers?"

He leaned in very close, the ash from his cigarette falling onto her face and into her mouth. She struggled but it was no use. There was no escaping what was coming for her. Whether he did her in now or if she lived a long life. She and Charles both. Not that he would ever let Lydia know that these people had as good as killed her mother and that they were doomed to worse than Juno's office.

"Thing 'bout bein' a monster once yer dead, once ya been to Hell, Red," his blood slicked hand brushed her cheek, "is that yer very aware of how much of a monster you can be."

* * *

Delia had thrown her back hard enough to leave a nasty bump on her head that kept Lydia disoriented while Betelgeuse did the horrible things he was doing. She moaned low as she sat up, only to be cut off by the shocked, agonized shouting of one of the policemen who had finally come to only to realize the extent of he and his partner's gross mutilation.

"Daddy?"

Again, her father was her first priority but when she reached for where she knew he was, she didn't get any reaction. No movement, no sound. His pulse still ran in his wrist, and his chest still moved with breath. He was alive then, but who knew for how long? Her father had bad nerves and a weak stomach. Whatever he had seen was too much and made him blackout. For once, Lydia was thankful for her poor vision.

Delia and Betelgeuse were near, her stepmother sobbing horribly, begging in a broken string of barely legible words like _please_ and _help_ and _don't kill me_.

Cowardice was no longer a luxury Lydia could afford.

"Stop it, Betelgeuse!" She lunged in his general direction, landing on his back from the side, beating weak fists as hard as she could to fend him off and defend her parents. "STOP IT! Leave them alone! It's me you want! _Just leave them alone and take me!"_

* * *

He had just finished stubbing out his cigarette in Delia's cheek when Lydia's form collided with his. He stayed where he was unmoved and caught her fists.

" _STOP IT! Leave them alone! It's me you want! Just leave them alone and take me!"_

"That had been the plan, babe," he wrestled her around so he could pin her arms, flat on her back on the ground next to her bound stepmother, "but you said no. 'Sides, don't ya want 'em to pay for what they did ta yer Mama?"

He wouldn't tell her about all the conversations he overheard. He only played her the one he did because she needed to know what was coming. No, they hadn't had a direct physical hand in her mother's death, but murder was a broad stroke when it came to the after life. They drove the poor woman to it. Charles didn't hide what he was doing with Delia, and Delia hadn't tried to be discrete. But they both had a hundred and twenty-five years at least in store for them, reliving their worst moments. A long chain of unbroken memories that couldn't be changed, couldn't be affected.

With a wave of his hand, the police were gone. He didn't know where he sent them, and he honestly didn't care. They were inconsequential, he didn't need more lives in his ledger, more reasons for Juno to come dig him up.

"What will you do if I stop?" His lips were touching her ear, his warm slick hands clutching at her bare wrists.

* * *

Once his attention was fully on her and off the others, she stopped, greatly weakened by the struggle. The whole night had worn her down, from the conversation from _the murderers_ that she wasn't supposed to be privy to all the way to here, to this second betrayal. Every emotion on her register had been exhausted, all except for this last one.

_Disappointment_.

They were close enough for their noses to touch. She didn't have it in her to fight him anymore.

" _Don't ya want them to pay for what they did ta yer Mama?"_

Here, they came to the core of their differences. Nothing but pity in her gaze, she answered. No matter how much vitriol he burned down at her, she refused to return it and feed into his greedy, destructive aura.

"No." They were too close for Lydia to see his full expression but she saw the light shift in his gaze. "I forgive them. I forgive _you_."

What a sad, pitiful creature he was, so convinced he was unloveable that he couldn't bend _just a little_ to let her. Keeping the timbre of a tired mother returning home from a long workday and reluctantly agreeing to cook for the whole family, she finally gave the answer she knew he wanted.

"If this is the way you want things to be… then fine. You win. I'll marry you."


	15. Chapter 15

She said yes but there was no joy in her tone, no light to her face. This was supposed to be a happy moment, wasn't it?

"I want ya happy, n' loved, n' separate from this…"

He motioned to the horrors that had been rained down inside the house. He had gotten his way but he didn't realize how much he wanted her to want it. She only said yes to save those worthless fucks he had no real intention of killing‒ not because she _wanted_ to choose him.

He felt empty, gone to the quiet dead place deep inside, an animated corpse going through the motions. Without her asking, the house started to put itself back together. The blood stayed, he couldn't do shit about that, but the walls went back, some to how they looked before the remodel. He pressed a warm damp cloth into her hands. Somehow, he had managed to not smear her dress with anything in all the chaos. Her hair was back to its previous perfection. A long shimmery veil pinned in amongst the pearls and lilies.

The magic that had pinned her parents down dissipating, both figures scrambled away from him and the girl. They couldn't leave, however. He and his little bride-to-be needed witnesses.

He saw the extent of how bad his hands and jacket looked. Wiping his hands against the suit, getting the worst of it off, he changed suits with a blink. This one consisted of the same black and white stripes, but included a black vest. It appeared to have been a better cut since it didn't hang off his frame the way his normal suit tended to. His hands were still blood-stained, it was caught in all the fine lines and around his nails.

He held a hand out to her, quiet and calm. None of his usual vibrating energy danced across his skin.

"Well then, let's get on with it shall we?"

* * *

When he didn't pull any theatrics to change her dress, Lydia realized that he never intended to let her go to sleep tonight unwed. All through their beautiful evening, everything he had done for her and shown to her‒ this was _always_ the game plan. When a clawed, mottled hand was thrust in her limited line of vision, she turned away in revulsion… but took it.

With a strong tug, he yanked her up from the ground and against him, Lydia falling in line with his manhandling like a ragdoll‒ but with none of the _swoon_ she might have before. Her already terribly pale complexion was ashen and ghostly. She did not stand tall and proud like the glowing beacon from the opera, but slouched, a wilting lily in his hand plucked too soon.

The walls groaned as they reshaped, the fireplace expanding to make way for a tall, misshapen arch. The fire that had been there sizzled out, plumes of white fog spilling out from the vortex and over the floor. Everything was cast in electric green light, but as always, nothing too bright for Lydia to handle.

It wasn't fair how much she loved him. An impossibly tall shadow erupted from the mist at the head of the altar, rising up until he towered over them all. Her face remained stony, firmly locked on the shadow and refusing to acknowledge her groom while the age-old script was recited.

_"Do you take this woman to be your wedded wife?"_

* * *

"Yes, I do." It was hoarse and rough, like he had to force the words out. She had refused to see him, flinched from his hand when he helped her up.

None of this was supposed to happen this way. She looked corpse-like in the eerie green light cast from the open portal. Juno was right, he was going to doom her. He was so fucking close to his happy ending, to getting what he couldn't find in life. He could feel that vast emptiness inside churning with pent up energy and emotions.

He shut his eyes as the officiant continued.

_"Do you take this man to be your husband?"_

* * *

This was it then. Her wedding. He wasn't going to change his mind or back down or try to fix it. He was perfectly happy to let _this_ be what their wedding was. A tiny part of her had been holding on hope that _maybe_ … but no. How disappointing.

In lieu of the ordinary call for objections one would witness at a normal wedding ceremony, Lydia gave Betelgeuse ample time before giving her answer to speak up and put a stop to all this. Seconds ticked on. Before he could lash out and hurt someone else, she answered, eyes closing painfully.

"... okay."

No further time was wasted.

_"I now pronounce you Man and Wife."_

The line of her mouth squirmed. This all hurt _so much_. At some point, her father had come to consciousness behind them, but whatever he and Delia were whispering was beyond notice to the couple at the altar.

_"You may kiss the bride."_

Pale blue eyes narrowed. _He may not_. She could feel herself being turned to face her _Husband_ , and in a final act of defiance, turned her cheek at the proper moment when he came for his kiss, forcing him to miss. Part of her dreaded what he might do to the other mortals present to twist her arm further but she couldn't help it. Her heart ached, and he didn't deserve her kisses.

She only had so much dignity left, and he had already taken most of it.

* * *

" _You may kiss the bride."_

He let out a shuddering breath, opened his eyes and turned to her‒ his _wife_. Why did thinking about that word and his little lover at the same time make his insides writhe like a pit of snakes? She turned her face away when he leaned in, and he pressed a soft chaste kiss to her cheek rather than fight her for her lips. Something inside him started to crumble. He went to his knees in front of her, hands shaking as he reached up to cradle her face.

"Sweetheart, we need a real kiss ta' seal the spell…" his thumb was stroking her soft cheek. "If ya don't give it willingly… I'll take it."

His voice was low and not angry, but pained. He didn't want to force this, but they couldn't leave it open ended. He was soooo close, but Juno or the powers that be could still pull him away.

He couldn't catch her eyes. That was something he was used to with her, but he knew he was in close enough she could at least make him out, and she was avoiding him on purpose.

"Lydia…"

* * *

_"If ya don't give it willingly, I'll take it."_

A half-scoff, half-laugh huffed past her lips, bitter and disillusioned. He hadn't gotten her to walk down the aisle willingly, barely even tried. When he didn't get what he wanted, he caused pain and hurt and lashed out and _acted like a baby_ until he had gotten his way. Lydia was disgusted.

"This is a problem for you now?"

He could play sweet and gentle with her now all he wanted, but it didn't mean _jack shit_ to Lydia when she knew it was just a ruse meant to soften a threat. The worst part? She _did_ want to kiss him, wanted to fall pliant in his arms and pretend none of the bad parts were real‒ but they were. So much blood had been spilt she could smell it as clearly as she had pollen in the garden.

"Do what you want. You're going to anyway."

* * *

Why did this hurt? Why did it bother him if she wanted to kiss him or not? He should have just forced the kiss and avoided this. Hearing her like this. It was tearing at his heart. He let out a shaking hissing breath.

"This isn't how I wanted fuckin' any o' this," there was rage and heat in his voice but no overflow of power. The house stayed quiet around them. He let out a low growl before spitting out, "but yer right, I _will_ do what I want."

He forced her to kiss him. It wasn't the chaste one she would have gotten had she come to him willingly. This was an assault. It was all teeth and tongue and harsh pressure. He pulled away when he could feel she couldn't do without air any longer. He didn't want her to pass out on him. He had other plans involving her still to come.

When he imagined getting his powers back, he never would have expected the crippling pain that came with it. It was like getting struck by lightning‒ but he couldn't die, couldn't escape the pain or the energy. There was an overwhelming rush of power like when he was properly summoned with intent, but so _so_ much worse. He was overstimulated; the sights, sounds, smells, he was under attack. The harpy and the old man were talking and it was clawing at the inside of his skull, but the smell of the terror in the room and of _her‒_ he was painfully hard in his slacks. _Why wouldn't they all just shut the fuck…_ the master bedroom.

The thought wasn't even finished before he was on top of his little bride, pinned to the bed in the master suite.

* * *

All that bravado and gall fled in the face of the consequences.

Time was standing still while she waited for him to make his choice, the only one he had left either of them with his callous actions. He was in her face, growling his descent, and all she could see was the same gleaming evil gaze from the garden, thirsty for her pain. Her scream was devoured by fangs and a forked tongue.

It _did_ hurt. He was careless with his newfound power, pricking her lips and tongue while feasting upon her mouth, piercing delicate tissue with lengthening claws. He stole the ground out from beneath her again the way she had grown to loathe, strange blankets she didn't recognize the feel of touching her skin. That smell… her father's cigars… Delia's perfume… _Oh God…_

"No!" She bit his tongue to free her mouth, earning a hard squeeze that made her shriek. "Betelgeuse, please!"

The veil was ripped away and her dress in tatters, hanging by a few stubborn scraps of moonbeam. He was _so_ hard, crushing her into the foul-smelling bed with their hips pressed together painfully in a way she was familiar with. The hurt in her chest was worse than the nips and tears here and there as he went at her.

He wasn't listening to her. He wanted to _hurt_ her. Was anyone going to help her?

"Please no! Stop! _Please!"_ She slapped and kicked, but it was to no avail. He was too strong. _"Help! Please someone! Daddy!"_

* * *

He could hear her‒ but the "her" he was hearing wasn't Lydia. He'd had to relive this moment more times than he could ever count; how he forced himself on _the bitch_ from before, the one he almost married when he was alive. She lied to him about the baby, and then fucked another man in his bed. If she wanted to play whore, he would help her out. He made her hurt, then he'd taken her apart and watched her die in front of her lover.

Had Juno called him back and stuck him back here in his own private hell? Is that why he was back at this place? Reliving this specific moment? He felt like he was missing something very important.

" _Help! Please someone! Daddy!"_

No, that wasn't right. She never called for her father… her father had died… oh fuck… _no_. He couldn't be doing this again. Especially not to…

The fog of his mind started to clear and he pulled back from the skin he was ravishing. It wasn't her, it was Lydia. She looked like she had the night he ripped that pissant of a teacher apart; terrified and roughed up. Rather than egging him on, the smell made him want to gag. The sight of her tears and the way she was fighting against him, it made him hurt. More than being summoned, more than when she rejected him. The situation clicked into place in his mind and he tore himself away from her, away from the bed.

The room quaked. He had his face in his hands and was screaming. It was just like the early days of being stuck in his Hell, forced to watch, to relive raping and murdering _the bitch_. This time unlike all of those, he was able to stop. He was as far as he could get from the bed without leaving the room. He couldn't bring himself to look back at his wife for fear she would be the same bloody mess as all the times he lived this before.

* * *

When he hauled himself off of her, Lydia went very still, flinching only when he let out that heartstopping, inhuman screech. Danger was still present. He had gone _mad_. She didn't know what he might do. So, so slowly, she inched up and back until each vertebrae of her spine was pressed flush to the headboard, arms wrapped around her knees. All the while she listened for any indication that he was coming back for more.

All she heard were crickets. The house had been abandoned. Delia and her father had fled, and the policemen were either dead or unconscious… _wait_. There was another sound… sirens. One of those officers must have radioed in for backup among all the chaos, or they hadn't made a check-in and were being looked in on.

"No," she whimpered, imagining the impending carnage. What had she unleashed upon the world? Could she possibly bring him back before it was too late?

"B-Beej?" She wasn't sure he was even still there. "I'll do whatever you want, okay? Just please… _please don't hurt them_."

* * *

Betelgeuse had slid to the floor, his legs splayed out in front of him, his nails had dug furrows into the hardwood. He had his eyes shut, head leaned back against the wall to keep from accidentally seeing the bed and what might be laying on top of it. He was in that still dead place, but his skin still buzzed with energy. With the bindings gone he wasn't sure he'd be able to shed his humanity like before. He knew someone was still alive and in the room, but the thought of looking and being wrong… wasn't a chance he was about to take.

" _Beej? I'll do whatever you want, okay? Just please… please don't hurt them."_

He flinched at the sound of her voice. He knew if she was talking to him like that she… she wasn't a ghost was she? Juno was right, he had gotten her killed right-fucking-away. That's why she stuck him back in the loop.

… No. No he could hear breathing, smell her vanilla-lilac scent.

"Don't hurt who?" his voice was rough, and sounded drained. He wasn't ready to look yet but maybe if he could talk to her for a moment. He rolled his shoulders trying to loosen his perpetually stiff neck, and cleared his throat.

"Don't hurt who, Lydia?"

* * *

There was still a lingering threat in his voice amplified by how quiet and hoarse he was. Actions probably made more sense than words to him right now but Lydia wasn't stupid enough to try approaching nor did she have any desire to.

"Don't you hear them...? They're coming up the hill now. Police… Men with guns. Just take me away from here and I'll‒ I'll be your wife."

As if she had a choice, but the message was clear. She would try. She would forgive him, but on this condition only. The sirens were getting closer and closer, and she thought her heart might explode the longer they stayed there in that horrible awful bright smelly room.

"I can't let anyone else get hurt because of me. _I can't take it, please, Beej, please, I can't_ …"

* * *

He sighed and stood up human slow, every movement very careful. He faced the bed and opened his eyes looking down, expecting a horrifying mess. What he saw was a messy bed and his little wife huddled against the headboard. The pain in his chest was crushing. Her sad little form in the ruined dress, her hair a tangled mess. This night has started out so beautifully and now, much like her dress, it was in ruins.

He moved along the edge of the bed stopping a few feet short of her. He could hear and understand what the sirens were now, could smell her anxiety in the stale air of the room.

" _I can't let anyone else get hurt because of me. I can't take it, please Beej…"_

He shut his eyes again as a new wave of guilt and pain washed over him. With a gesture toward her, the remains of the dress were stripped from her and replaced with a modest soft nightgown in black, with long warm sleeves. Her hair fell around her in freshly cleaned and brushed waves. Now that she didn't look like he raped her, even though at this point he might as well have, he was able to offer her his hand.

"I have somewhere we can go."

He didn't try to touch her. He was so sick with what had happened he didn't know if he deserved to touch her ever again. He felt like he was suffocating on the scent of her sadness and fear, what had been a turn on, now making his skin crawl.

"Somewhere safe and far away from here. I can keep em outta the house, if ya want time to get anything from yer room."

* * *

Soft fabric furled out like a thin, soft blanket all around her‒ another nightgown, more modest than anything he had ever dressed her in before. She cuddled herself closer for the simple comfort, taking anything she could. With his new softness and the concession to leave, a heavy weight of anxiety lifted but not all.

She was in shock, she knew logically. Adrenalin was coursing through her and nothing felt real. "Safe" was a far away unattainable concept.

"I want the picture of my Mama in the bottom-left drawer of my vanity. I don't care about the rest."

Her face untucked from her knees. His open palm was just barely within the edge of her sight, harder to spot without his normal stripes. Biting her lip, she spared one last moment's hesitation before taking the plunge. There was nowhere left to go but with him. Their hands joined, warm and cold, and Lydia trembling allowed him to pull her closer for the jump to wherever this alleged sanctuary was.

However, before they left, she needed to know.

"Are you _you_ again?"

The person who wanted to hurt her was not the man she loved. He was _sick_. There was something extremely wrong with her Husband… but he was hers all the same.

* * *

The moment she mentioned the photograph, it appeared in the breast pocket of his jacket as if summoned by her voice. He watched as she slowly uncurled herself, didn't miss the tiny flinch before she took his hand. He pulled her in to cradle her against his chest, pressed his nose against her hair, and took a deep pull of her scent.

" _Are you you again?"_

"Think I'm more me than I've been in a long time," his lips were brushing her hair. His hands stayed on her where she would stay the most secure.

It wasn't like before when he took her places. He hardly had to think at all about this transfer. It was easier than taking her from the attic to her bedroom had been. It was like he stepped from her parent's bedroom and into the living room of his house in the Neitherworld.

He hadn't been here in a long while but on a quick glance around and letting his senses run through the house nothing seemed amiss. Apparently being him still had advantages in the right circles. He took a step towards the moth eaten couch, glass crunching under his boots from broken beer bottles. With an irritated grunt, he twitched his head and a majority of the mess in the house was swept away.

Quickly he settled her onto the couch and draped a heavy fur lined blanket around her shoulders. Once he had her momentarily settled he clapped his hands causing the fireplaces in the different rooms to blaze to life, pushing back the chill.

"Hold tight there, I'm gonna go get the bedroom ready for ya." He started down the hall and then froze on the threshold of the room, "Feel free to explore," he said awkwardly before he moved further into the old house.

* * *

It was chilly and musty wherever he had brought her. Upon settling her on the couch, a cloud of dust released into the air, triggering a string of sneezes that left her head feeling even fuzzier. The coziest, warmest blanket Lydia had ever felt in her life was draped over her shoulders without him touching her again. She was thankful for that. She wasn't ready for any kind of close contact with him so soon. Their transportation here was incidental.

" _Feel free to explore."_

That sounded like a great idea. Her adrenalin was slowing but she wasn't content to sit on the couch. She waited until she heard the click of whatever door he went through shutting. Then, she was up and off, stealing an oil lantern from a nearby table to bring with her and help investigate.

Lydia had never been in a house so blissfully dark. Each and every curtain was drawn, room to room‒ even the _library_. This was where Betelgeuse eventually found her, with her face smushed near flat against the shelves in her curiosity to read his volumes. This was easy. This was familiar and comforting‒ but also new and amazing and endearing. Almost enough to make her forget…

A sound from the entryway startled her into dropping the dark tome she was having an excruciating time trying to read. It detailed nasty rituals that promised immortality and great power, if she ever got around to that section. To be fair, she was extra jumpy. She assumed it was Betelgeuse, and that this was his house. How a ghost owned a house was beyond her, but here they were.

"I'm fine sleeping in here." There was a chaise lounge a dozen or so steps back that was soft and cushy to the touch. "I'm not tired, anyway."

* * *

He found her in the library trying to read one of his nastier spell books. If she could decipher the inscription and his hand written notes in the margins she was welcome to read it. He might have to make that one braille just to watch her try. Leaning against the door jam, he watched her for a few moments. It was strange having her‒ anyone‒ in his house. It was even stranger to him that he'd given her free range of the whole space without a second thought.

_Their_ house. It was her home now too. He would get her one topside when she asked but for now, this house would do.

He knocked on the door jam, three times sharp. He had ditched his jacket, leaving him in his shirtsleeves, open waistcoat, and striped slacks.

"Bedtime reading?"

" _I'm fine sleeping in here."_

"Ya ain't sleeping in the library," exasperated, he scrubbed his face with his hands."I got the bed all ready for ya when ya are tired. N' if ya sleep in my library, what am I s'pposed ta do 'til ya wake up?"

He moved past her into the room and sunk down into the chair behind the big desk and kicked his feet up on the desktop.

"Did ya get much explorin' done? Or did the books distract ya?"

* * *

He was heavy and his steps were too. Lydia appreciated that about him. After he settled where she knew there was a desk, she knelt down to pick up the tome she dropped when he came in, carefully putting it back into place on the shelf with the respect books deserved.

"I found a bathroom, a room with sheets over all the furniture, and then this room."

In other words, yes, the books had distracted her. Despite what she said, the weight of the evening was indeed weighing heavily on her. Wordlessly, she soldiered on until finding a book worth falling asleep in the pages of. She settled on a cryptid encyclopaedia that took both of her skinny arms to carry. It was toted to the aforementioned chaise lounge with the kind of slow floating steps she took when she was getting to know a place and almost had it down.

Once there and comfortable, she left the book unopened in her lap. She sat facing her husband, expression not quite expectant, but the distance between them was clear. They both understood who had driven the wedge and who was responsible for repairing it‒ if such a thing could even be done. She couldn't see him, but she _knew_ her not-quite-a-full-glare was landing.

A long, tense moment dragged on without either saying a word. The glare formed completely. Her left eyebrow twitched, as well as her index finger. Nothing? He didn't have a word to say for himself? Her lips pursed, and she dared for a low blow because the longer the silence wore on, the more it sunk in what had just happened to her and where she was, and the more it _pissed her off_ that he still wasn't talking.

He thought a library and a fur blanket would win her? Cute.

"My father isn't perfect but he taught me one thing at least, and that's that only _weak men_ hurt women."

There. And she hoped it stung, too.


End file.
